Loss
by SadBeautifulTragic08
Summary: „You can't help me!" The wings of her nose flare with the sudden outburst of anger as she stands on her right foot, holding on to the rest of her sofa for balance. There's a fire in her eyes for a second and then they droop. „I appreciate that you want to but you can't help me," she stresses. Deals with physical impairment and depression so consider yourself warned.
1. Growing Pains

**Notes: This idea has been in the back of my mind for a long time and will deal with physical impairment, depression, loss, the importance of friendship and finding happiness through the thicket of self-doubt and fear and acceptance. **

The doorbell rings for the second time, the small red lamp lighting up once more. She wonders if whoever is at the other side of the intercom will go away if only she keeps ignoring the shrill sound. Olivia taps her hand on her right thigh and waits a beat. The frown on the brunette's face evens out when there is blissful silence but not for long. Not a minute later he phone vibrates next to her and she sees the name ‚Elliot' pop up on the screen.

_Go to hell, go to hell, go to hell._

She wants to reject the call but knows he's only going to try again. Finding herself between a rock and a hard place Olivia makes a grumbling sound and slowly scoots forward on her sofa before she carefully pushes herself up, tries to keep her balance on her right foot and then reaches for the crutch.

No matter what, her ex-partner is not going to be deterred from whatever his plan is. Olivia can ignore him but that's not going to make him go away.

She walks over with assistance of the crutch, the limp slowing her down immensely. What has once been second nature has become debilitating as hell. Here she is, unable to walk the short distance from her sofa to her front door. When she reaches the intercom Olivia furiously slams her finger on the button to buzz the intruder in. It isn't too long before she can hear heavy footsteps in the hallway followed by a gentle knock on the door.

He stands there with a bag of takeout, dressed in a suit. Olivia looks down at herself. She definitely isn't dressed for the occasion. Then again she hasn't asked for a visitor. She is wearing black sweatpants and a shirt that's at least semi-clean, thinking that's attire she can get away with in her own home. Elliot smiles at her boyishly. Her face remains completely impassive.

„What do you want, Elliot?" Although the question suggests she is about to tell him to leave she opens the door further and hobbles back inside her living room.

„Have lunch with you," he says like it's obvious. Her mood doesn't surprise him. First of all he hadn't announced his visit and then Olivia isn't much of a sunshine these days, visitors or not. As he closes the door behind him he notices her imbalance. Olivia's entire body is twisted to the left as she tries to put as little pressure as possible on her left leg. As she reaches the couch she plops down, her face screwed up in what Elliot identifies as pain, and glances down at her herself, seeing her left leg tremor. When she looks back up Olivia notices that he has seen it, too and averts her gaze, staring at a phantasmal spot on the wall.

„Bad day?" This earns him a death glare. It's something he thinks he will never get used to. Each time it feels like a knife is twisting in his side but he tries his damndest not to let it show. These days her face never shows any relaxation and he knows that is due to the constant pain she is in since the accident. He has noticed the tremors before, the involuntary twitching of her calf muscles. Or what is left of it.

„Really?" She asks with a scoff. God, his audacity. As if any of her days could possibly still qualify as good.

_„No, everything's just peachy. I may not be able to walk or work or do anything at all really, but that's just fine. I'm as happy as a cripple can be," _is what she wants to tell him. Instead Olivia decides there's no point in saying anything. In fact she doesn't want to deal with Elliot at all. His insincere chipper attitude is grating on her nerves, even if deep down she knows he means well. They all mean well. But that isn't going to help her so they can shove it where the sun doesn't shine.

The bitterness has become a part of her. Maybe it has become _her_.

Elliot crosses her living room like it belongs to him and the pink plastic bag rustles. „I brought your favorite."

„Uh-huh." Chinese. „I'm not hungry."

„You've got to eat," he tries, his voice soft but encouraging. She has lost weight since the accident and to Elliot it is worrisome by now. It had been a few times that Olivia had really worked up an appetite and finished a meal. It's the medication. It makes her woozy and nauseous a lot of the time.

„I gotta do shit," she states calmly. For a moment she wishes he hadn't ever come back. He had only re-entered her life after learning of her accident and the infection she had caught that had been about to kill her. Probably he had felt like he owed her to at least show up for that after he had turned in his notice without contacting her before. Or after for that matter.

„You don't just have yourself to think about." Of course he plays it like that. Of course he brings her child up. Not even the honest concern Olivia hears swinging in Elliot's words cushions the blow of what he's suggesting.

„Don't you dare say he's not being taken care of," she tells him with a hard stare and fury. For a moment her spunk is back. Only for a moment, though.

„That's not what I'm saying," Elliot winces. No matter what he says, she will find a way to take it as a direct offense against her.

„The hell it's not," she mutters underneath her breath. Not even he is the same. Where's his anger? Where's the fight he would have given her six years ago? Like everyone else he falters around her. It's a clear sign: her situation is hopeless. By now she has come to the same conclusion. Four months ago she had practically laughed in her surgeons face, thinking how he hadn't known who he was talking to when he had outlined what to expect from her recovery process. How it is unlikely she'd ever walk without assistance again. That the limp is permanent. That there is only so much they can do regarding pain management. Four months ago Olivia had been convinced that if she only worked hard enough at physical therapy, if she is going to be determined enough, she'd be fine. She'd defy the odds and be that one in a million. She'd walk again. On her own two feet. Without a limp.

Only she doesn't. With as little progress as she has made in therapy she starts to think she won't. Ever since the suspicion has come creeping in she falls a little deeper into her depression. If physical therapy doesn't help then what's the point? What's the point of any of it?

When Olivia falls back into disregard, and she has a hell of a lot of that when it comes to him, Elliot thinks of what to say next. What do you say to a person that has lost about everything that's important to them? Olivia has lost her ability to walk and thus her independence which is about the worst thing that can happen to someone who has always been as wildly independent. She has lost her job. Or is about to, it's only a question of time until they stop holding out on it. She may be a Lieutenant but that doesn't mean she can always hole up in her office and delegate everything. Not only is she unable to chase after a suspect, with one hand she is also unable to handle a gun. In the eyes of the NYPD, despite all of the expertise and twenty years of experience in SVU, Olivia Benson is now practically useless to them. He of all people should know how quickly they can turn the tables on you.

If he could take any of it from her, he would. He'd take the injury, the pain, the tremors and live with it for the rest of his life if only she could have hers back. But there is no option to trade. The best he can do is to come over again and again and show her that at least she is not alone. As much as he hates her rejection, he'd hate himself even more if he gave up on her.

It is bad enough that he hadn't been in her life when the accident had happened. At the time he had firmly believed that she had been much better off without him, that his presence would complicate her life. For a while he had been so messed up, he hadn't wanted Olivia, strong Olivia, to see her ex-partner teetering on the edge of sanity. Ignoring her many calls had been the easiest way and when she hadn't stopped calling Elliot had turned off his phone, then changed his number. Before he had known it a year had passed, then a second, a third. The more time and distance he had put between them, the less he had been able to imagine she would still want him in her life. Maybe she really doesn't, he hasn't given her much of a choice.

Four months ago Fin had showed up at his door. Although he had moved a couple of years ago his former colleague had easily found him. But then he wouldn't make a good cop if he hadn't. Fin had filled him in then. On the accident. On how everything had pointed towards a full recovery until…

_Until._

She had caught an infection and it had spread quickly and within a few days it had been touch and go. All antibiotics had failed to contain the infection.

He'd sat by her side when it all had gone wrong. When the monitors had started beeping and a nurse had come rushing in. It had all happened too quickly, he can't even remember half of it anymore. He had refused to leave the room until someone had pulled him out. They had wheeled her away for emergency surgery and he had been shaking and crying, thinking he'd lose her.

It had been hours until a nurse had told him she was out of surgery but of course they hadn't given him anything beyond that. Just that for the time being she had been stable. He had no longer been her next of kin and so he had waited for Fin. She had gone into shock from the spreading infection as they had later found out. They had cut away a majority of her calf muscle. For now there's nothing more they can do they had said.

A goddamn car accident that had slashed her lower leg. It had not been supposed to end like this. She should have been fine.

„I'm just trying to say that you need to take care of yourself, too." Olivia eyes the rice, chicken, vegetables and sauce on the plate he holds out to her with disgust, like he is actually trying to poison her. „Olivia, please."

After a long while she accepts the plate wordlessly. A few bites and she starts pushing the food around on her plate and makes a small pile in the middle with her fork. He doesn't dare comment on it thinking that it probably won't take much for her to throw it at him. Instead he tries to find out what's going on with her.

„Is it the nausea again?"

It's a vicious cycle, that's what it is. When she is nauseous she can't eat much because it feels like she is going to throw up all over herself. It had happened once, so it's a very real fear at this point. When she takes her medication that helps with the nausea it makes her sleepy and she doesn't function. They haven't yet found a cocktail that works well for her. It's not like she hasn't tried, so she hates to hear how she has to take better care of herself.

Although Olivia's gaze is blank she at least acknowledges the question with a nod. If Elliot had blinked, he would have missed it. She may not have said anything but at least she isn't hostile either. That's something. And something is better than nothing.

There is nothing he can do about the nausea. What he can do however is be supportive and have her back. The last thing Elliot wants is for Olivia to feel like she's under scrutiny. When he purses his lips and takes the plate from her he can see confusion flicker in her eyes. She won't eat, it is not going to make a difference when he makes her feel shitty about it. In the kitchen there is a bowl of fruit, probably just for Noah's benefit but he thinks maybe it will go down better than rice.

„Do you think you could eat half a banana?" He is catching her off guard, he can see it in the way she suddenly hugs herself, her arms crossing in front of her chest. Olivia avoids looking at him. Just when he starts to think she is not going to dignify the question with an answer she speaks.

„Maybe."

….

She has eaten three-fourths of the banana and he's satisfied with that. A few minutes ago Olivia has turned on the TV although Elliot has a feeling she isn't even paying attention to what is going on onscreen. Maybe she just wants the noise. Or she thinks that it will cause him to keep his mouth shut.

Elliot notices her leg tremor a few more times within minutes. It really seems to be a rather bad day for her. But if he had been worried before then it's nothing compared to what he feels when Olivia starts to groan, closes her eyes and swallows audibly. The sound is so present that a cold shiver runs down Elliot's back. It's a cramp. She has those regularly, too and has once admitted that it's so much worse from what she is used to from charley horse, that it felt like her nerve endings are on fire.

„Is there anything I can do?" He feels helpless and useless, especially when her forehead shows a film of perspiration. Her entire face is twisted in pain. Of all the people in the world why does it have to be Olivia? She doesn't deserve this, none of it.

„Nu-uh," she manages and shakes her head and gasps. She hates this. Not just the cramps, she can handle those somehow but having Elliot see how vulnerable she is. How she can't even handle it quietly. It lasts for a minute and when the sharpness of it leaves her muscle, there is the tremor again. Elliot's eyes are on her. They reflect his concern and that is something she has never handled well. Under his gaze she shrinks. It feels like she's losing piece after piece of her dignity. She moves to get up because it's midday, time for her pills. There was a time when she had thought they don't help at all because the pain is always there, it never really goes away. Once she had left out her medication, thinking she might as well save the money if it's not helping. She had ended up crawling to get to her medication, sobbing, honestly thinking she was not going to survive the pain. Since that day she is taking her pills religiously. The pain is always there. Some days it's more manageable than others.

She moves to get up and when Elliot wants to assist her she can't accept it. She should be grateful but instead lashes out again because it's what she does best these days.

„I'm fine," she bites out although a blind person could see she has a hard time standing up.

„Just let me help you," he pleads weakly.

„You _can't_ help me!" The wings of her nose flare with the sudden outburst of anger as she stands on her right foot, holding on to the rest of her sofa for balance. There's a fire in her eyes for a second and then they droop. „I appreciate that you want to but you can't help me," she stresses. „I'm a crip." When her voice cracks and she realizes she is about to lose it she reaches for her crutch and walks away, the limp more severe now after her nerves are shot from the latest spasm. By the time she has reached her kitchen counter, where her pills are, Olivia feels the familiar bite of tears. There is nothing she can do as they start slipping down her cheeks when she reaches for the bottle of pills with shaky hands. Finding herself unable to open them while supporting herself with the crutch she leans the aid against the counter. It's then that she feels Elliot's overpowering presence behind her. At his touch she flinches.

„Just go," she whispers.

„Liv…" He reaches out and the second he touches her she flinches and then goes rigid.

„Go!" Her cry rattles him. He thinks it might have rattled the entire building. Elliot's first instinct is to simply wrap his arms around her and hold her, hold her despite every bit of protest and every bit of a fight he knows she would give him. But there is so little she can control these days so he doesn't let instinct win. If she needs to have control over this, over who is here and who is not, then he is not going to be the person to take it away from her. As much as it pains him he steps away from her.

„Okay," he says softly.

_„If you need me just call," _is what he wants to say. But he keeps his mouth shut because he hopes she knows. He hopes she will call him. And even if she won't, he'll come by in a few days.

He looks back over his shoulder when he reaches the door and finds Olivia standing in the exact same spot, her back facing him. Without another word he leaves and pulls the door shut behind him, waiting for any noise from inside of the apartment but there is nothing.

….

When the door falls shut her body starts to heave. She sobs inaudibly and clamps a hand over her mouth as tears are sliding down her face. It is all true. He can't help her. She doesn't want help. She's a crip. And she doesn't need Elliot's or anyone else's pity. She allows herself a minute to cry, to fall apart. Then she wipes her eyes, stoically pops two of the pills from the bottle and limps back towards her couch.

**End notes: I am really nervous about this one. I want to make it clear that I don't have a medical background so if there is something that makes you go "That's not realistic at all" please be nice about it. I do as much research as I can but I am sure there will be mistakes, it's inevitable. Reviews are highly appreciated. **


	2. Gray

A trickle of sweat pools on Olivia's lower back and seeps into the material of her shirt. She breathes heavily and tries to focus, her face screwing up from the physical exertion. She had walked her rounds at the bars first. One would think it isn't much of a difference compared to walking with a crutch but it seems so much harder. The muscle mass on her calf they have surgically removed can't be rebuild but her therapist always stresses the importance of preserving what is left of her soleus and keep her thigh strong. Apparently the last thing they want is to compromise her health any further. Olivia however isn't so sure she cares about preservation or imperilment anymore. She is easily discouraged at this point in her recovery process.

„Keep it up, Olivia. Come on, you've got this," Mary-Ann encourages. „Pull that leg up. There you go. Three more." The blonde kneels in front of Olivia who lies on her back, supporting her patient as she bends her knee and brings it up into a 90 degree angle. The pain Olivia experiences is cutting each and every time.

„I can't," Olivia groans and when her foot touches the ground again she lets loose, her leg flat on the ground. She is not bothering to do three more repetitions. A few weeks ago she had still worked herself raw, no matter how painful some of the exercises had been. Giving up had simply not been an option. But with no progress whatsoever she now fails to see the point.

„Olivia, come on. You can do this." Olivia's commitment to therapy had started to wane a couple of weeks ago. The last four therapy units haven't gone as well as Mary-Ann was used to from the brunette Lieutenant. When she had first come in Olivia had been in high spirits, determined to do whatever it took to get better. However, her hopes had been too high. There is just no way that her patient's expectations of a full recovery could ever be met and it seems Olivia is starting realize it. The process of accepting that there is only so much they can reach through physical therapy is evidently discouraging. She has seen it in many patients but it never gets easier.

„I can't," she huffs, her face red. Her leg shakes. The pain that keeps cursing through her lower leg is still as sharp. Keeping her eyes closed she tries to focus on her breathing instead of the agonizing torment. Mary-Ann's incessant drivel isn't helping either.

„Yes, you can. I know exactly what you are capable of. I know it hurts but what must be, must be," she reminds her patient. It had been Olivia's own words when they had started working together.

Olivia casts up her eyes and exhales shakily. When she speaks her tone is flat. „What's the point?"

„You know the answer to that one. You want to keep that leg strong and prevent blood clots." Yes, someone has done a 180. Mary-Ann understands how hard it can be for a patient to come to terms with the severity of their condition. In Olivia's case that means acceptance of a permanent impaired mobility and unfortunately insufficient pain management. None of the exercises offer short- or longterm pain relief. The sad truth is that there is no way for a patient with Olivia's initial situation to get much better than this. The point of each therapy session is maintenance.

„What I want-," she starts stubbornly, hands rolling to fists. „What I want is to walk."

„I know you do." The therapist's voice is soothing. „Do you remember what we discussed when you first came here? About what to expect?"

„That's not-," she almost chokes on her desperation. She does remember. But that has never been her plan. It has never been what she was ready to settle for. How could _this_ possibly be enough?

Mary-Ann sees her patient is shutting down. It happens from time to time and trying to continue the exercise makes no sense as long as someone is in such bad shape.

„Olivia…," the other woman cues. „Let me help you up. How about you take a minute and then we finish with a massage unit."

Olivia sniffles and after a moment nods. The term massage is misleading. What you expect is some sense of well-being and relaxation. What you get here instead is a shitload of pain because the little bit of muscle you have left screams in agony when it is mended from the strain of previous exercise.

The blonde with the short bob helps Olivia up and makes sure she gets to the table okay. When the therapist rolls up the ground pad it gives the brunette a moment of privacy to get her emotions in check. Today she has come the closest to call off her therapy session she has ever been. Drawing the curtains and crawling back into her bed after she had dropped Noah off at kindergarten had been tempting. All she had wanted was to be left alone and roll up in a ball and do nothing until Lucy came back with Noah. It's not even much different from what she usually does since the accident. The only times she leaves the apartment is to bring Noah to kindergarten and sometimes pick him up. And for her therapy sessions. She sees a shrink once a week, a woman who is more experienced with the psychological impact disablement can have. Lindstrom had referred Olivia to her. Dr. Linda Swinton is nice enough but just like with physical therapy Olivia hasn't seen much progress in her sessions with the older woman. No matter how hard she used to try, it turns out she had been running in circles the entire time.

Getting out of bed gets harder every day. Noah is the only incentive she has anymore. Without her son she would have given up by now. The sad thing is that she isn't even that terrific as a mother. What can she possibly give her son anymore? She can't play all the things he wants to play. She can't chase him through Central Park or on the playground anymore. She can't even pick him up. Noah deserves so much more than what she is still able to provide.

Linda always encourages Olivia to leave the house, go out and do things she has enjoyed before. Enjoying things isn't as easy as she thinks when you're in constant pain. The necessary trips to kindergarten, therapy and doctor's appointments are engery-sapping enough, she can't deal with much more. She doesn't _want to _deal with more. Whenever she is out people stare. They turn their heads. They look at her full of pity. It makes her feel alien and self-conscious. It's something Olivia can't get used to.

Before the accident Olivia had considered herself a fairly attractive woman for her age. She has had her problematic areas, of course but which woman doesn't think that way about herself? In her mid-forties Olivia had gained some weight, had gotten softer. Everything she had put on she has lost since the car crash and then some. Most of her clothes are a size or two too big now.

Olivia used to think she had a beautiful smile. Granted, she hadn't smiled as much in her adult life until she had adopted her son, but she had liked it regardless. Now there is no reason for her to smile anymore. Her face is set in stone these days. When it's not it is scarred by pain.

All of her hope and positivity has turned to fear and self-pity. One day she had still thought she'd be okay, that it would all turn out the way it was supposed to. And then, suddenly, she had found herself spiraling and quick. Elliot's visit had been the last straw it seems.

She has never had a cramp in front of anyone other than her physio-therapist until last week. Never had she felt as utterly at mercy of her disability as she had in that moment. She had always considered herself a strong person but nothing fucks up that perspective better than wailing and shaking from pain under the concerned glances of a friend that she thinks had once thought of her as strong as well. Before the incident with the cramp. Before everything. Now everyone, even him, can see that all she really is, is pathetic. Chained to a crutch, unable to fully take care of herself. They should have seen how she had tried to get out of the bathtub last week and had fallen, bruising the entire left side of her body when her leg had given out on her. Or how a few flights of stairs can send her into a meltdown even on her best days.

The game of pretend is lost. Reality is stripping her down to the bone, leaves her raw and vulnerable and there isn't a damned thing Olivia can do about it. This is her life now. She carves out a miserable, pathetic existence.

When Mary-Ann joins her at the table Olivia rolls up her sweatpants. Her left lower leg that was once defined by protruding muscle resembles a cratered landscape now. Thick scar tissue coils around what used to be her calf. If the pain wouldn't remind her 24/7 this ugly scar certainly would.

The massage, like always, is painful on the lower leg and would probably be enjoyable on her thigh if it weren't for the constant pangs setting her nerves on fire from below. When Mary-Ann is finally done Olivia, as always, is on the verge of tears. She's holding them back through sheer willpower, not willing to lose the last bit of her dignity in this therapy room.

„Try to do the exercises you can carry out on your own at home, alright? It doesn't have to be long but putting in two or three minutes of work twice a day will go a long way."

Olivia nods, agreeing to follow the instructions but she has a feeling she might find some excuse to skip on them. How is she supposed to find the motivation when the truth starts to sink in for her. They are all right. Her leg is not going to get better. And Olivia can hardly imagine it could possibly get worse. Right now she can't see the point in any of it.

…..

„…will you succeed? Yes! You will, indeed. 98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed. Kid, You'll move mountains. So… be your name Buxbaum," she reads and as always Noah giggles as he's cuddled up to his mother.

„That's a funny name."

„It is a funny name," Olivia agrees softly and continues reading. „Be your name Buxbaum, or Bixby or Bray or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O'Shea, you're off to great places! Today is _your_ day! Your mountain is waiting. So… get on your way." She tilts her head and smiles down at her beautiful boy as she closes his favorite book.

„Can you read it one more time? Please?"

„Not today," she says and puts her lips against his temple as her leg starts to tremor and she groans softly as a stabbing pain follows.

„Do you have an owie again?" The four year-old boy looks insecure. Ever since his mom needs the crutch to walk she seems to have a lot of owies. Sometimes he hears how they make her cry and it makes him sad.

„I do," Olivia agrees and makes a tight smile appear, trying to show him she is okay.

„Why?"

„Because I had an accident and I got really, really sick so, the doctors had to operate on my leg. I showed you, remember?"

Noah nods and seems to think about something. „Can't you take the medicine?"

„I do take medicine," Olivia explains. „And it helps a little bit but the hurt doesn't go away completely and sometimes, like just now, it hurts a lot." She can see the wheels turning as he's trying to make sense of something that's hard to understand even for herself.

„It's not a very good medicine then," Noah decides. „You can have mine, okay? That helps."

Olivia smiles sadly, wishing she could tell him it is that easy. That with a switch of medication all of the pain, all of the problems caused by her current condition could go away. „It really isn't a very good medicine for what I have," she explains and kisses his hair. „But do you know what helps? Big hugs and cuddles." Her voice is mysterious and she makes an effort to look excited for Noah.

„Really?" His face lights up and for a few second it helps.

„Really," she says and instantly Noah is all over her, giving her a massive hug for such a little boy.

„Just like that, that's an awesome hug."

„Do you feel better?"

„Much better," she assures, rubbing his back. „But now it's time to lie down and close your eyes." Sitting up she helps Noah to get settled down. She kisses him goodnight three times and strokes his hair before she makes her way out of his room.

Momentarily she feels like she can't breathe. Of course Noah is picking up on everything. On the many times she is obviously in pain, the tremors, the sudden cramps that range anywhere between seconds and several minutes in length. Olivia bets he is also picking up on her discouragement lately. As much as she is trying to put on a brave face for him, reality is knocking her down more and more often. Her life is disrupted. There is no way she can still do the things with her son she has always done. Going to the park is an act of total exhaustion for her. It is impossible to keep up with her child that just wants to jump and run ahead like every other four year-old. They take cabs pretty much every place they go by now but in case her notice from the NYPD comes in that's not going to be possible anymore. She is terrified of what is going to happen once she's off of the NYPD's payroll. Noah will have to go to a public school instead of one of the better private schools Olivia has enrolled him in. The expenses for her medication alone will send her on a road to ruin, leave alone what she has in debt in hospital and legal bills. For months she hasn't allowed herself to think about it, determined to get better, convinced she _would_ be going to get back to work. But she won't. Not like this. And getting any other job with the amount of pain she is in every second of the day, with the tremors and cramps seems hopeless.

It hits her then. She won't be able to afford this place anymore. The thought of having to leave this apartment and move into a smaller, much more affordable place in a building and neighborhood that isn't as safe makes her physically sick.

She is going to lose everything. _They_ are going to lose everything.

Shakily Olivia makes her way to the bedroom, her face a ghostly white. Her limp seems to taunt her with everything else it will cost her. As if the loss of the health-related quality of life isn't enough.

By the time she reaches her bed thick tears are running down her face. Rolling up into a fetal position Olivia holds her hands to her chest, sobbing quietly. The seriousness of her situation comes crashing down on her. The darkness that has seeped into her bones lately whispers to her again like it does every so often.

_„There is no way out."_

_„You are useless. You are worthless." _

_„You can't do any of the things you love anymore." _

_„You have no purpose." _

_„You're a cripple. A good for nothing gimp. Face it." _

_„Noah deserves better than you."_

_„Look how pathetic you are crying over your piss poor life." _

The whispers get louder and within minutes it's the only thing Olivia can hear in the confines of her mind. More than that she is starting to believe it.


	3. It Cuts Deep

The soft knock on the door followed by a muffled „It's me." puts Olivia out of her stupor. As the door opens the brunette blinks rapidly. Her gaze settles on her child that has about finished his cereal by now. Milk runs down the four-year-old's chin and trickles off of it, a dark spot on his left pant leg expanding with every drop. Olivia hardly cares. Normally she'd make it a point to change his pants before kindergarten. At this point she lacks the energy and the incentive.

„Hey," the blonde detective greets. Amanda has had a spare key to Olivia's place for a couple of years now. It used to be for emergencies. Said key is used every Thursday morning now. Rollins takes them along to Noah's school and Olivia's therapy appointments because the shrink is en route to the precinct. Olivia is pretty sure the arrangement has little to do with convenience and everything with a certain extent of checking in once a week. At least without coming off overbearing. Amanda looks frazzled but it's not like Olivia has ever asked to be taken by her. There's no sympathy there. Not today.

It's been a fucked up morning that had started with a long ass cramp that had woken Olivia at four-something. The subsequent tremors haven't allowed her to go back to sleep. Her pills don't do what they are supposed to do, at least that's how it feels. The constant pain only seems to be getting worse lately. So is her motivation to get up in the morning. Olivia thinks that if she wouldn't have Noah she'd stop bothering with getting up and going about her day in any other way than laying in her bed, staring at the ceiling, at all.

She cares about very few things anymore but tries to keep up her appearance. Somehow Olivia manages to do her hair and make-up every morning, except for the weekends. On the outside she wants to make the impression that she's put together and handling things. Faking smiles and telling Noah's kindergarten teacher that she's doing just fine has become second nature. Her made up hair and painted face keep the facade she has built up for everyone in her life. She may be fucked but everyone seems to think that as long as she looks together she must be together. There are days she wants it all to crumble. Days when she wants to look as apart as she feels on the inside.

„Morning," Olivia says, even going through the trouble of making a tight smile appear. They have about ten minutes left before they have to be on their way. In the name of coming off like a person who is in control of her life she should put away Noah's cereal bowl.

„Hey Champ, you had a good breakfast I see." The blonde walks over and ruffles the boy's curly hair. Noah gives her a toothy smile.

„Mom let me have cereal again." Again. A couple of months ago she had still made it a point to serve her son a proper breakfast at least four, five times a week. Fixing a bowl of cereal is much quicker business and she doesn't have to balance herself on one and a quarter legs for long. Although she feels a fair share of shame and guilt for it sometimes she sinks into the new routine.

„I can see that. Tell you what, Jesse had cereal as well," Amanda winks at the boy. „Perfectly good breakfast, isn't it?"

„Yeah," Noah agrees happily and hops off of his stool.

„Go wash your mouth and bring me the toothbrush and toothpaste, okay?"

„Okay." He runs off and Olivia is relieved that today he plays along. The inability to help Noah brush his teeth at the lavatory is one of the hundred daily reminders of her disability. Like many kids his age he dislikes the routine and often enough he will refuse to bring her the utensils necessary for his dental hygiene, or he'll simply run off and hide from her. There is no use in trying to chase after him or to tell him to knock if off. Yelling, threats and bribery fail most of the time, leaving her at a complete loss. If it has been hard before it is now impossible. She relies on her small child to cooperate at all times and children aren't necessarily known to cooperate.

Getting up she grabs her crutch and the bowl as Amanda puts her purse on one of the stools. „Need help?"

„Thanks but I've got it," the brunette says and drags herself to the adjacent kitchen. The leftover milk goes in the sink. The apartment is tidy but no longer as clean as it used to be. Vacuuming and mopping the floors wears Olivia out so she's doing the bare minimum, hoping nobody will pay too much attention to the corners and rills. She makes every excuse to not let people take a better look at her kitchen. With Elliot it doesn't work. He's the only one who doesn't care about boundaries.

„How's it going?" From the bathroom Olivia hears the water running. When she trains her eyes on the blonde detective she sees how Amanda scrutinizes her.

„Good." The lie comes as easy as always.

„Alright. And therapy? How's that going?" If she hates one thing it's prying. And everyone asks the same goddamn questions all the time. Elliot, Amanda, Fin, her therapists; they all sound like a broken record.

„It's going," she retorts simply, making an effort not to sound pissed. But pissed she is. Pissed and tired of answering the same questions all over again.

„Hmh."

The pitter-patter of small feet echos. Olivia walks back over, grateful that her son instantly opens his mouth when she squeezes toothpaste onto the brush. This way she can save face in front of Amanda and doesn't look like a helpless idiot when it comes to parenting her son.

„I was thinking to take Jesse to the farmer's market on Saturday and figured we could go together." The brunette doesn't shift her gaze towards the other woman but her brows knit while she tilts Noah's head back. Amanda suspects Olivia isn't leaving the house much. It is summer and the sun has been shining almost every day for weeks, yet the brunette's usual healthy and olive complexion is ashen, her arms comparatively pale. They have been to the farmer's market in Brooklyn before. The kids had a blast running around and taking everything in and Olivia had loved all the market stalls offering a variety of produce ranging from fruit and vegetables to high quality woven woolen blankets and handmade organic soaps. Of course this had been before the accident. But getting out in Amanda's opinion is killing two birds with one stone. She can spend some actual time with her friend and get a feel for what's going on and Olivia will get out of the house. „I'm sure it would be fun."

This rouses Olivia from her seemingly deep concentration on her task. She glances up at the blonde. Her idea of fun differs from Amanda's. Limping in the New York City heat for a couple of hours and being gawked at while suffering through cramps and tremors is not the first thing that comes to mind when she thinks of ‚fun'. „Thanks Amanda, but I don't think so." Trying to come up with a decent excuse Olivia drops her gaze. „I already have plans."

„You do?" Suspicion swings in the words and Olivia doesn't miss it. The brunette doesn't miss a beat and replies.

„Yeah, I'm actually meeting Elliot." The lie is easy on her lips, especially because she has something to focus on as she scrubs the outside of Noah's teeth.

„Okay. So how about next week then?"

_„Shit," _she thinks. Of course she should have seen it coming. „Alright Noah, all done." Smiling she hands her son the toothbrush and toothpaste. „Go rinse, please?" When her son is off Olivia looks at Amanda once more. „I don't know yet, Amanda."

„The kids would love it."

„Then maybe you should just take the kids," the brunette grumbles underneath her breath as she moves to stand. It's about time for them to leave, the perfect excuse to gather Noah's backpack and her purse.

„I'm pretty sure Noah would like for you to come. It doesn't have to be long, Liv."

The emotional blackmail is as clear as day. Noah. They all drag her son into it to get her to do things she doesn't want to do. In her opinion it borders on cruelty to throw her child in her face if it means they get their way. Knowing that Amanda won't back down Olivia throws the blonde a bone. Likely she's going to steal it back within a week.

„I'll think about it."

„Great," the detective beams. „Noah, come on, we have to get going."

„Can I take my dinosaur?" He comes running with the toy in hand.

„Yeah, take it," Olivia agrees heavily as she grabs his sweat jacket. This early in the morning it's still chilly outside. Luckily he can work the zipper by now or else the entire routine would be a bit of a balancing act. „Shoes," she reminds him as Amanda holds out her phone to her. „Ah, thanks."

To put on her own shoes Olivia sits down on a small stool by the door. She can no longer just slip them on standing and depending on her footwear it can take a while until she's ready to go. Sneakers are the most comfortable choice but are hard to get into with as little strength as she has, at least when she wants them to fit snugly.

Thirty minutes later she has dropped Noah off at kindergarten. Back in Amanda's car the air his thick, the mood heavy. Still Amanda tries to get some kind of conversation going. Same as always.

„What have you planned with Elliot then?"

„Huh?" Glancing at the blonde in the driver's seat, Olivia plays dumb. It's mainly to buy time.

„Your plans with Elliot. What are you guys gonna do?"

„Just hang out." The reply is accompanied by a light shrug of the shoulders. „He just said he'd come over."

„Is that all you ever do? Just… hang out?" However it sounds to Olivia it is not how Amanda had meant it, she truly is curious if the man gets her engaged in any activities because no-one else can. Obviously her Lieutenant is taking the whole thing rather personal.

„Really, Rollins? You too? What do you think we're doing?" The accusation is poisonous.

„That's not what I mean, Liv."

„The hell it isn't," she mutters. For twelve years she had been getting the same question from people. Who is she kidding, it had never really stopped, not even when Elliot had retired. Probably every single person within the NYPD that knew them wondered if they fucked. Because men and women can't _possibly_ be just partners, just friends. Naturally there must have been something more there. What bothered her the most was that everyone so easily believed him to be a cheater and her to be his mistress. Some lines may have been blurred in that partnership but she has had her pride. She has never once slept with a married man.

„I'd never ask what you think I asked, Liv. I was just wondering if you usually stay in or go out, take walks, go for coffee… get out of the house." She glances at Olivia, seeing the hardened expression on her face. The brunette refuses to look at her. For a long while there is silence in the car except the quiet hum that comes from the radio.

„Leaving the house stresses me out," Olivia finally admits quietly, her voice deep.

It's the first time Olivia has shared anything of importance with Amanda post accident and the blonde appreciates the honesty. „Okay. Why does it stress you out?" She uses a voice that is reserved for victims or her daughter.

„First of all it's exhausting. I need… breaks." It's not the worst part but only proves how little strength she has left anymore.

„Well, we can make sure you get breaks, Liv."

Amanda doesn't get it. Nobody gets it. Taking breaks is not the issue, she knows she can take them anytime. _Needing_ them in the first place is what bothers Olivia. Not being able to walk for ten minutes straight for a lack of strength is the problem. Being defeated by her body time and time again is a struggle they don't understand.

„Awesome, can you make people stop staring at me as if I'm Quasimodo, too?" The words have a bite to them Olivia hasn't intended to use but now that they are out she can't take them back. She feels Amanda's gaze on her, burning into her skin.

„You know people are idiots, Olivia. In a perfect world they wouldn't pay attention but they do. I'm sorry they do but you have to be above all that." Amanda knows people look. Someone with a severe limp seems to draw quite some attention. She has seen Olivia shrink under the scrutiny of strangers a couple of times.

„Well, I'm not." She isn't above it at all and Olivia has a feeling she will never rise above it. The looks of curiosity and pity. Kids asking their parents what is wrong with the lady. The occasional group of teens who laugh and make fun of her because they are oh so cool and strong as a pack. There is nothing she can do to protect herself from it. She can't save herself from stares and ridicule. God, she can't even save herself from her mind these days.

„It takes time. But you can't hole yourself up in your apartment and only come out for your appointments, Liv." The brunette sits stoically next to Amanda and stares out the window, her expression hidden behind a mask of indifference. Whatever she is going to say, Olivia won't have it. Not today at least.

For the rest of the ride the two women exist in silence, no more words being spoken. When Rollins stops in front of the therapist's building Olivia mutters words of thanks and then she makes a slower exit than she would like, agreeing to get in touch if she needs anything and to really think about the trip to the famers market. Both of them know Olivia won't do either.

…..


	4. No matter what you say, what you do

„Olivia?"

Linda's voice slowly filters through the thicket of Olivia's memories and her new reality. All the cobwebs in her head have led her astray, the question her therapist had asked got entangled along the way. In her first weeks here Olivia had been shattered but there had always been the lightbubbles. There had always been hope. Now there is no trace of the lightbubbles. It feels like her entire body fills up with tar, it sticks to her insides, suffocates her along the way, little by little. At times she can't move. At others she can hardly breathe. Dark brown eyes shift hurriedly until they eventually transfix the older woman in the chair adjacent to the black leather couch Olivia sits on. She can't help but think that she's become such a fucking cliché. Again.

„I'm sorry."

„That's okay," Linda says in a soothing voice, the one she uses every so often. „Would you like to talk about something else?"

„I don't know." There is nothing in particular she wants to talk about. In fact Olivia would be happy not to talk at all.

„Are you going out?"

The brunette averts her gaze and the answer is in it.

„I take that as a no."

„I don't get very far," Olivia says defiantly.

„That's a fair point. However, I'm sure there is a café or bistro somewhere close by. This is New York City after all." Kind green eyes drill into the amor made of conjured up excuses. Olivia falters under the intense gaze. It's true, there are a few coffee shops in her direct neighborhood. But her lack of stamina and physical strength aren't the only things keeping her from exploring those options. The black within spreads, fills her up some more, keeps her from giving one more reason, another excuse. Silence bleeds into the small room.

„You said your friend comes over regularly. Elliot?" Linda sees a flicker in Olivia's eyes at the mention of the man's name. They have by now established that something about Elliot is different from her other friends. In a way he is special. With him she is real. She shows him her colors, bestows her moods upon him, the good but most importantly the bad. He is the person she bites like a snake when he steps on her, the one Olivia is flippant with and yells at. He is also the person she lets come back to her although she claims she wouldn't care if he didn't.

„Yes. He still comes over." He brings her lunch and takes care of most of her grocery shopping although she has never asked him to. Telling him not to, that his help isn't wanted or needed (she can get her goddamn groceries by herself after all, even though she is about ready to drop dead afterwards) hasn't impressed him. He keeps showing up with bags full of food and everyday necessities.

„Maybe he could go with you."

„No." The answer is out before Olivia can even think about it. The last thing she needs is to prove to him how weak she truly is. The apartment is a safe place that offers many opportunities to catch her breath, to sit, to rest. Outside she won't have that. There won't be breaks that go unnoticed.

„Why not?" Linda is met with silence as Olivia stares at her hands that rest in her lap like they are the most fascinating thing she has ever seen. At the same time there is a sense of stubbornness surrounding her patient.

„Olivia…"

„I used to have his back." Words erupt from her mouth like lava from an overactive volcano.„In the field. I used to have his back, I used to protect the both of us. I was fast. I was strong. Now I'm…"

„Now you're what?"

„I'm not that person anymore." She glances up at Linda but her eyes don't take the other woman in, it's like she sees right through her. „To him that person is a distant memory."

„How do you know that?" The therapist cocks her head, curious where this is going.

„The way he looks at me. Talks to me." Olivia tries to swallow the lump she feels in her throat but it doesn't move. She spares Linda the effort of asking her to elaborate. „Like I'm… damaged."

„Has it ever occurred to you that you might be projecting the way you think about yourself on him? That Elliot might see the opposite of a weak or damaged individual in you?"

Olivia scoffs because what are the odds? Elliot probably only sticks around because he feels trapped. You can't reappear in someone's life when they were technically on their deathbed and then make a run for it when they survive. Survive a useless cripple but survive nonetheless. Some sense of responsibility and maybe a portion of guilt is what keeps him coming back, Olivia is sure of it.

„I don't want to talk about Elliot." To wonder about his motivation to stick around and come back for more of her poor behavior towards him is too scary, too delicate. It's the one question she hasn't yet dared to ask her former partner. _Why?_

The concept of the man that used to mean the most to her being back in her life is something Olivia still can't quite grasp. Most of the time she doesn't know how she feels about it. Different emotions are muddled ranging from relief and happiness to sadness, rage and devastation. It's been six years and he hadn't managed to pick up the phone or make his way to the 1-6 to see her. She hadn't been out of this world.

Five months ago when she had been chained to a hospital bed on strong pain meds and antibiotics he had been sitting there. Elliot. El.

Had held her hand, gazed at her and if she remembers correctly he had murmured words of apology. It's a haze. For a moment Olivia had thought she had bitten the dust. That she was dead and that Elliot, for whatever reason, was a ghost. Everything else hadn't made sense. But then she had felt the rough calluses of his hands holding hers. Her hands that had been aching from years of not touching him at all. Years of not having had the possibility. Something about it had felt very real. It had been gratefulness that had spread within her first, then realization had come crashing down on her. If he was there that meant it really didn't look good for her. She had been dying. Of all the scenarios she could conjure up in her head, she wouldn't have thought for the life of her that an infection would kill her. A bullet, sure. A hostage situation gone wrong possibly. But damn, this one had taken her by surprise.

Dying hadn't scared her. Correction. Dying hadn't scared her half as much as the prospect of losing her leg. Having Elliot there, holding her hand through it, whispering things to her she couldn't quite understand, acting like he revered her and would hold onto her until the end had made it even less scary.

Something simple had been in those hours that had turned to days. Olivia had let things fall into place. El had been talking to her for hours about everything and nothing and she had just listened when she had been semi-awake, which hadn't been a lot, and had gotten carried by his words the many times she had dozed off. His stories had been a soft caress, like beautiful tales from a foreign land. It is not much she remembers but from what she does she knows it had made her heart flutter. He has a good and close bond with Eli and what used to be severed about his ties to his older four kids has been mended. Nothing could have made her happier for him. He is divorced and lives alone now in a small two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. He had said he wants her to see it and she still hasn't been. He has missed her. Olivia thinks he had said that a lot but she might have been fantasizing with the high fever and all.

But she had missed him too, she had thought between moments of wakefulness and sleep, a place where her own truth had been admissible.

Olivia swears in those days at the hospital she had felt his lips on her forehead, soft as a feather. He had breathed life into her. With their fingers entwined he had been her faith in the little things. No matter what had happened in between, how absent he had chosen to be from her life, he had been there with her in the end. For the end.

All the simplicity has changed to complication. She had survived.

She had survived and there is no more holding hands or the whispers of kisses on his part. Her gratitude has gotten lost along the way, instead she feels the need to test his patience and complies with the urge to push him away. Maybe some small part within her wants to punish him. Whenever he leaves, sometimes freely, sometimes because she kicks him out, Olivia holds her breath until his name flashes on her phone or he rings her intercom and tells her it's him. Each time she wonders if she's pushed him too far.

She wants him there and she doesn't. She lets him in until it all gets too much. He is nothing short of a punching bag and she pummels relentlessly lately.

„How do you feel, Olivia?" Olivia blinks. They have a good fifteen minutes left and there has been very little talking going on so far. Olivia has developed a gift of either shutting down or getting lost in her own head.

How does she feel? It's a simple enough question but there is no simple answer. Just when she thinks she won't answer, her lips start to move.

„I feel… angry. Defeated," she whispers. There is no way to escape this situation, nothing she can to do trick her leg into submission. „Stupid."

„Why stupid?" This last one stands out.

„Because I thought-" she stops and swallows, takes a breather. Her eloquence has gone out the window lately. Just one of many traits that had once made her. Eyes trained on her Linda waits patiently. „They told me," Olivia says finally and runs a shaky hand through her open hair. „That I wouldn't walk again, at least not without assistance. About the pain. And I didn't…," shaking her head her eyes droop, her gaze crashes back to her lap. „I didn't think it could happen to me. I expected pain but I thought it would go away. I didn't think it'd be like this…"

„You had no way of imagining how it would be, Olivia."

„Didn't I? I had all the facts. I know you can't regrow muscle. They spelled it out for me and I didn't want to hear it. I thought I could be some kind of super human beating the odds. Walking. Pain-free. No limp," Her words hit the air ferociously. „I didn't want to be a cripple and ended up one anyway. That's the fucking irony," she laughs cynically and angrily wipes at a tear she wishes like hell she could have held back.

„Do you ever wonder if the decision you made was the wrong one?"

The answer is as fast as a bullet.

„No." No fucking way had it been wrong to keep her leg. Keeping it had meant hope. She may be a cripple, unable to walk without a crutch but at least she is still on her own two feet. Just barely but damn it, she can stand. She is still complete in terms of what meets the eye. Even if deep inside she really isn't.

„Okay." Obviously it is too soon to talk about it so Linda lets it rest. The progress they have made in the past five months has been little. But in some cases it takes a long time, especially when the event leading up to the injury has been unforeseen and traumatic. Glancing at her watch Dr. Swinton decides to let Olivia go early today and use the remaining few minutes for research. The brunette Lieutenant obviously has no desire to be here right now and sometimes backing off and allowing for some space can do wonders. „I think we did well for today." They didn't at all and Olivia knows it, eyeing the therapist suspiciously. „I will see you next Thursday, Olivia. I'd appreciate if you'd leave the house just once. Go for coffee. Take a friend."

….

She doesn't go for coffee. Not that week and not the next week. Least of all with Elliot. And to not be found out she cancels her appointments with the age old excuse that comes with having a kid. Noah's sick, she won't make it and she's terribly sorry. She spends her days on the sofa, TV running at all times. She binge watches How I Met Your Mother although she hardly pays attention. In the middle of season two Olivia still has no idea who is who. She gets lost in her physical pain and more often than not she spaces out, gets lost in her head.

Images of the accident pop up from time to time. They make her pulse race and palms turn sweaty.

_At the green light she had made a start at the intersection and out of the blue there had been a car coming from the right, crashing into the passenger side of her vehicle. Closing her eyes she still has the metallic taste of blood in her mouth. What she remembers is the moment of silence right before everything had erupted in noise. Cars honking. People screaming. Sirens blaring. For a little while she must have been unconscious because she remembers waking up to someone holding her head still and telling her not to move upon opening her eyes._

_„Hey, thank God. There has been an accident. You got hit. Don't move okay. The paramedics are on their way," the stranger had said with wide but warm, reassuring eyes and a soothing voice. A man. Possibly around her age. Salt and pepper hair, green eyes that had reminded Olivia of those of a cat that often sat in front of her apartment building because some old lady always fed it. „You're okay. Can you… can you tell me your name?"_

_Groaning she had exhaled, then swallowed what had felt like a lot of saliva mixed with blood. „Olivia."_

_„Olivia," the stranger had repeated, seemingly relieved that she was responsive. „Does anything hurt?"_

_God yes. Her head had felt like it was split in two and there had been a terrible burning sensation coming from her leg. She hadn't been able tell which one. Maybe both. „My head. Legs." Bravely she had tried to move said legs, regretting it when a sharp, cutting pain had cursed through her and made her cry out._

_„Oh my God, don't move, please don't move. You… you are injured, your leg… just hold still, okay?" Had she been able to move her head and glance down she would have seen the piece of metal that had cut deeply into her skin at the side of her left calf. „You'll be alright. Just please hold still," the stranger had repeated once more._

_She hadn't know how long it had been until the paramedics and fire service arrived. They had treated her as good as they could inside the car, had put a neck brace on her and had given her something for the pain as well as some oxygen before they had managed cut her out. They had removed the piece of metal from her leg in a way that had allowed immediate damage control. She had lost a bit of blood, well, quite a lot actually. But all things aside her prognosis had been great after a couple of hours in surgery to stitch her calf back up. When she had woken back up the doctor had told her they were expecting her to make a full recovery within a couple of months, she'd be looking at some physio therapy at the most if everything healed well. And then, just when she was about to be released on the third day of her hospital stay the latest bloodwork had come back with an alarming inflammation score. From thereon out it all had gone south quickly. One day she had been supposed to go home, the next she had been trying to fight a full blown infection to her wound. Within less than a week her life had hung on by a thread and her surgeon had come to discuss the options because antibiosis had failed and the inflammation had spread._

_Amputation. At the word her stomach had turned and rebelled so violently, Olivia had thought she was going to throw up then and there. It had been an instant no, even when the doctor had explained that he thought it was her best shot at a normal life. But how on earth was she to lead a normal life, her former life, with just one leg. How was she supposed to be a Lieutenant with the NYPD, a mother, a woman if they cut off her leg? They'd not only take off a limb, the bone saw would take her identity._

_When it had come to discussing alternatives Olivia had chosen cutting away the infection if it should come down to it. No amount of pain or a bit of a limp had scared her as much as the mere idea of an amputation. Other than that Olivia had always been strong and determined. She could do physical therapy and work herself raw, she had thought. She'd walk. That's who she was. A fighter, someone who defeated the odds more than once. She had survived hostage situations, sexual assault and torture by one of the worst psychopaths she had ever crossed paths with. Them cutting away a bit of her muscles wasn't going to hurt her in the long run._

_Little had she known._

As if in cue her leg starts to cramp. Breaking out in a sweat Olivia clamps her hand over her mutilated calf, trying to will the onslaught away. Her entire body falls into a state of tension, her arms shake.

„Stop," she hisses. A cry follows. „Goddamn it just stop!"

But like every other time willpower doesn't stop her body from being subdued by the sharp, unforgiving pain. And today it pushes her over the edge. In the safety of her home Olivia starts to sob uncontrollably. Tears are streaming down her face. Her breath is staccato and her nose is running. Olivia couldn't care less. For months she hadn't allowed herself to fall apart. Sure, she had cried. But not like this. Not for everything she has lost and will never get back. Independence is something she has long since kissed goodbye. As much as she wants to think she can get by on her own, secretly she is relieved that Amanda takes her to her Thursday morning appointments and grateful Elliot is doing all of her shopping. When she needs a ride there are four or five people she can call and one of them will take her wherever she needs to go. Amanda had taken Noah without a second thought for as long as Olivia had been hospitalized and a couple of weeks after. Although Olivia doesn't take it for granted she acts like she does. What she owes her friends is immeasurable. However, if there is one thing she is certain of, it's that their support will eventually end. Especially when she treats some of them like a punching bag - namely Elliot.

_Elliot._

In his presence she is lost, caught between what they used to be and that thing she can't quite figure out they are today, six years later.

Elliot is everything to her. At the same time he's nothing. When he is with her she wants him gone. The second he is she regrets she made him leave. Time moves slow when she is alone and in the grand scheme of things that is okay with her. Like now. Nobody witnesses her breakdown which means she can go on pretending. For them, for Noah. Maybe even for herself.

By the time the cramp ceases Olivia is physically and emotionally drained. There is no energy left to do anything, so she stays on her sofa, feeling paralyzed inside. Outwardly her leg trembles, her body shakes. With puffy eyes and a heaving chest she stares at the TV but doesn't take anything in. She should be cleaning her kitchen or vacuum the carpets. In the past week she had pulled herself together enough to do the bare minimum. On the surface the place is tidy and clean, that's something.

Today she can't bring herself to even try. The exhaustion she feels doesn't allow for anything.

…..

Within the next few days Olivia finds that her sofa, her pills and a drink make a combination that not only makes her pain more bearable, it also helps her sleep. She hasn't had any alcohol since the accident, thinking her meds and booze probably wouldn't mix well. But well they mix. Fucking well.

Olivia doesn't get drunk. A glass or two of wine are all it takes for her to hit that state of comfortably numb. When it comes to sleep she takes what she can get, dozing off on the couch. She has an alarm set by default to make sure she is up and has twenty minutes to clean up after herself before her son is brought home by Lucy. It goes well for six week days when Elliot shows up unannounced again.

When she hears the pattern of his knuckles against her front door and wakes it takes her a moment to find her orientation in the room.

_Living room. Sofa. Fell asleep._

As her gaze settles on the wine bottle and glass on the coffee table she feels a jolt of panic rattling through her.

„Olivia, open the door." The forcefulness that carries through her door confuses her.

„I," she mutters, feeling a little shaky as she sits up. „I need a minute." She doubts he can hear her because he keeps on knocking.

„Olivia, if you are there you better open that damn door." Whatever has him so pissed, the mood quickly rubs off on her.

„A minute," she hisses and moves enough to be able to reach her crutch that rests against the arm of the sofa. It will take her two trips to her adjacent kitchen area to get rid of the evidence of her latest sleeping aid and as much as the combination has knocked her out today (it's been two full glasses of red), as drowsy as she is she is slow. Elliot on the other side of the door must have heard her because the incessant knocking has stopped. So have the demands for her to open the door. The bottle is empty and goes in trash, the glass she puts in the sink. Olivia schleps her broken body to the door and when she opens she doesn't see her ex-partner regarding her with his usual fake smile and gross chipper attitude.

„What are you doing?"

As hard as she tries to put one and one together, the penny doesn't drop. As far as she knows she isn't doing a thing. Elliot brushes past her, careful not to bump into her. Her pills are on the coffee table, the remote. A throw lies haphazardly on one end of the couch. Unless he can see through walls there is no way he knows she has been drinking. Spares her a lecture.

Inside Elliot turns and looks at her. His ex-partner's hair is tousled, her cheeks pink and her eyes small with the remnants of sleep.

„Well, hello to you, too," Olivia manages drowsily, not ready for this sudden invasion of her home. He had brought groceries last night so deem her surprised.

„Why aren't you going to therapy?"

„Wh- uh…" How the hell does he even know? „What?" Right. Play dumb. Right on the way to ruin. It's not like he ever took it well.

„Rollins said you didn't go last week and you sure as hell didn't show up this morning." His stance, arms crossed in front of his chest, face rigid is proof of his sudden no bullshit attitude. However, he has no right to show up here and act like this. Whether she goes to therapy or not is none of his business. Never has been, never will.

„Nice, looks like I have a babysitter that reports back to Dad," Olivia challenges but her voice is fairly neutral. The remnants of her wine and pill knockout have her care very little. They might as well get it over with so she can grab another hour of sleep.

„Don't give me that crap, Olivia." By the way his jaw sets and his adam's apple protrudes when he swallows she knows that he is beyond pissed. The use of her first name instead of her nickname is a bit of a sign, too. Elliot's steel blue eyes hold her gaze and then, in an instant he softens. She doesn't know why but he softens. „Liv, you can't do this. You can't skip on your therapy appointments." At least he is pretty sure it can't be smart not to go to physical therapy.

„What do you care, Elliot?" The question is rhetorical and before he can open his mouth she keeps on speaking and with every word anger builds within the pit of her stomach. „Since when are you the poster child for psychotherapy? If I think I can deal with not going for a week or two then who are you to judge? It's not like sitting with my shrink once a week is going make the brass clear me for duty, is it? That ship has sailed for me. So please tell me how talking about how I feel about losing my badge, which I will and losing my mobility, which I have, is going to help me with any of that?"

Elliot hears her. The frustration and resignation is clear as day in her voice, in her facial expression. But her trying to shame him for caring isn't working. And it's not just about her shrink either. „You're not going to physical therapy, either." No matter what she is going to tell him in terms of physio therapy, nothing she can say is going to convince him it isn't vital with her condition.

Not a question, Olivia notes. Elliot states this as a fact and in his direct stare that's daring her to prove him otherwise she realizes he doesn't make assumptions - he _knows_. The question is how.

_Son-of a-bitch._

The thing is Olivia doesn't even need to know what he'd done to figure it out, he won't be able to redeem himself easily. She wants to throw her crutch at him. Unfortunately she doubts her aim would be good. And she'd probably land on her ass. Although that would be almost worth it, what's left of her dignity is dear to her.

„How do you know that, Elliot?" By the way the man averts his gaze the scales fall from her eyes. „Are you following me?" She asks in disbelief. When he doesn't answer she knows all she needs to know. It takes her damned long to process this invasive behavior.

„There's not much following involved when you don't leave," he confirms her suspicion. Elliot isn't proud of it, but ever since Fin had mentioned last Friday that Olivia is home sick with Noah and hadn't made it to her Thursday appointment he has had his suspicion. The kid had been more than healthy the day after, which had pretty much confirmed it. He had just needed to know for sure, so he had made enough space in his schedule on Monday, Wednesday and Thursday, parked his car close to her building and had waited for her to leave - which obviously had never happened or else they wouldn't be here.

Huffing Olivia runs a shaky hand through her hair. Really, she shouldn't be surprised. This is Elliot fucking Stabler in the flesh and blood, something like this is all up his alley. Olivia isn't stupid. She isn't naive, either. However, she thought after everything that has happened he wouldn't dare to pull a stunt like this. Not after he had retired without giving her a word of warning. Not after his disappearing act for six goddamn years.

„Fuck you, Elliot." The words are venom. Olivia hobbles towards her sofa, stops when he speaks because she can't believe what she hears.

„Just to make that clear, I don't follow you around, Liv. Okay? Fin told me Noah was sick so your friend didn't have to take you the day before and on Friday Noah was fine. I just wanted to-." He doesn't get to finish as her voice thunders.

„You seriously think that makes it okay? Tell me why any of your reasons should matter to me because in the grand scheme of things it comes down to one thing: you're still that same transgressive asshole that you've always been when it comes to my personal life." As much as she hits below the belt, it is the truth. Elliot has never not pushed her boundaries no matter if it concerned her dating life or other personal areas. It's not the first time he has been tracking her, either. All in the name of caring about her, of course. All out of worry. He thinks she is finished but she is only getting started.

„Who do you think you are getting into my business time and time again, Elliot? Huh? For six years you couldn't be bothered to call me, talk to me, at least _explain_ to me why our partnership meant so little to you, that it was too much to ask for a heads-up or proper goodbye, yet here you are when it suits you, telling me what I can or can't do?"

„I apologized for that, Liv," he says quietly, apologetically. It only infuriates her more.

„Did you? When, Elliot? And more importantly why? Because you thought I was dying? I wasn't even lucid most of the time, I still don't know for certain if you made some piss poor apology or if I hallucinated between the Grim Reaper and the drugs." Her eyes are weary but her spirit is burning angrily with the wrongness of it all. He has no right she thinks. And that's what hurts most. That after everything the man has put her through he thinks he can waltz back into her life and take up the space he once used to. Like nothing has changed. That he still doesn't understand there are boundaries he can't overstep, not even in the name of care.

When Olivia looks at Elliot he is guilt-stricken. And she thinks he should be. Whether she hurt him or not, she is not going to apologize. As far as Olivia is concerned it is all true. He hasn't taken the time to produce a proper apology when he has had her full attention. He had just been back… here.

_Back._

Beginning where they had ended six years ago. And for some reason she has let him. At the end of the day he had been the least of her problems when she had come out of surgery.

Elliot's head falls and he looks at her carpeting underneath his shoes. His arms untie, each dropping to his side as he gives a simple nod. He turns and moves to her couch, takes a seat because clearly this is it. They need to talk. Elliot had figured it needed to happen sooner or later. Truthfully, he had expected later.

„You're right," he offers in an attempt to reconcile their argument.

„I know I am right and I'm pretty sure I didn't say you could sit down."

While Elliot has gotten used to her moods, it feels Olivia has never been so aloof with him in the past five months. Of course he can't blame her, he's screwed up in more sense than one. Despite her words that suggest she wants him gone he stays put and folds his hands in between his far apart legs. Gathering some courage he trains his eyes on the brunette who still stands in the middle of her living room, torso tilted to the left, supporting herself with the walking aid. She doesn't look at him, refuses to give him that little.

„I am sorry." For as many times that he had said those words to his ex-wife, friends, to anyone, he had never meant them as much as he had whenever he had said them to Olivia or his children. The same applies to this very moment. He _is_ deeply sorry. There are a few mistakes in his life he'll regret until his last breath. Not being there for his first four children as much as he should have. The many times he had taken Kathy for granted. Leaving his partner and best friend of almost thirteen years without a word is very much on top of the list. „For everything," he continues when she scoffs, his words deflecting off of her.

God, she wants to ignore him and not play this game. But when has she ever not taken the bait? „Sorry doesn't cut it this time, Elliot." The anger simmers down, the fight leaves her. Usually she'd pace. But with her body kaputt she can either stand, which is exhausting, or sit. So she limps to the other end of the sofa, the one that is not occupied by Elliot and clumsily plants herself there. „You can't expect that everything is going to be okay just because you toss around the same words," she explains. „How many times have you told me you are sorry?" She feels his blue eyes on her. She is so fucking exhausted, so tired of him, of everything.

Unsurprisingly the former detective remains quiet next to her. Exhaling heavily Olivia rubs her hand against her mouth. „I've heard it so many times that your ‚I'm sorry' doesn't mean anything to me anymore." Her voice is so faint and yet it cracks under the heavy admission. Nothing she has ever said to him has been more truthful she thinks. In crass contrast to her outburst one minute ago she is now overcome by a sense of calm she hasn't felt in a very long time. Like something has been lifted off her shoulder, at least where the man next to her is concerned. Olivia focuses on the black TV that asks her a question in white letters: „_Are you still watching?_"

After a long moment of silence his eyes fall away from her and he stares at her carpet. It hurts to hear but he understands. He has dug this bed for himself in all the years prior his sudden exit. „Olivia…" It's strange because he can take her anger, all the rage, the sadness, the madness. But when she gets all calm and collected and uses that voice, that's something that truly worries him.

„No, let me talk."

„Okay," he rasps. He is scared. For all the times he has been here after he has come back to her this is the one time he is scared. There's a big chance she is going to tell him to go to hell and mean it. Elliot has no idea how to deal with that possibility. For all the times he's pushed his luck with her, he might have pushed too far this time. It makes sense. There is nothing she has left to lose, is there? And it seems she has done just fine without him for six years. He isn't something she needs.

For a minute she collects herself, thinking of where to start. Her leg throbs terribly and her head is starting, too. Taking a breath is hard.

„You came back, Elliot," she states simply and worries her bottom lip with her teeth, still searching for words. Not even the right words, just… words. „There was so much going on and you…," she swallows audibly and clears her throat as the emotions incapacitate her. „I thought I was dying," she continues. „I thought I'd leave my son an orphan when he's already been through so much. And then I lived and-" Still she refuses to face him, to look at him. „I never even processed the fact that you were back. I'm still trying to figure out why. I don't even know what your place in my life is or what my place is in yours." The words cut deep, even for her. „I don't know what the hell you are to me and after twelve-something years as partners-," She refuses to use the term _friends_. „-that's strange. But I rolled with it. With you being back and being present even when sometimes I didn't want you to be present. In a way you are… you are comfort. Until you are not. Sometimes-," she breathes. „Sometimes you are my personal hell, Elliot. Do you even know that?" Olivia's throat runs dry, it's like she has swallowed a cotton ball. The well-known bite of tears knocks, pokes its head in the door and says hello.

With her words comes the trepidation that this is going to be the moment she tells him to get lost and get lost for good. To leave her alone and never come back. The thing with Olivia Benson is that once she's made up her mind and has had enough, when it's the final straw, she is done. And he knows it. He knows that as forgiving as the woman is, her patience can come to an end. After successfully weaseling his way back into her life he just hadn't seen it coming.

„If this is how it's going to be, if this is our partnership and you overstepping boundaries all over again? I don't want it. You don't get to camp outside of my apartment to check if I leave for therapy. And there is nothing you can say to make it even remotely okay. Don't you get that? That you are violating my privacy and our… our…whatever this is between us at this point?" She can't bring herself to use the word friendship right now, not when she isn't sure that's still what it is. As she pauses she finally looks up at him, her eyes swimming. It's as effective as a kick in the balls.

„I get it," Elliot says thickly. Damage control, he thinks. That's all he can do now. Excuses and apologies aren't going to help him now. He is still sitting here, that is something. And he better not fuck it all up by saying the wrong things.

„Do you? Because honestly, you are the least of my problems, Elliot. I don't want to put up with your crap. I won't… I won't go back to that place." Seeing her like this, the hurt he has caused her then and now puts his actions this week into perspective. Moments of doubt only made him think of how he had Olivia's best interest at heart. He had known it wasn't right but he had made himself believe it was as long as the right motivation was behind it.

„I was wrong. It won't happen again," he says sincerely but it doesn't clarify where they stand. Her eyes fall away again, focusing on something that is not him. With everything she is going through he doesn't need to add to her problems. Olivia is right. He is the least of her problems. Between learning to live with her disablement, motherhood and all the fears and uncertainty concerning her future his role in her life is marginal at best. And Elliot isn't an idiot, he doesn't miss that half the time she doesn't even want to put up with him. That's on him. By abandoning her like everyone else in her life had done he had broken something. Five months back in her life and he's still not any wiser if that something can be fixed. If there is a time to put his cards on the table however it is now.

Strangely he feels like it's them in a hospital hallway after the Gitano case all over again. When things had been said that couldn't have been truer but had eventually torn them apart. He remembers that day like no time has passed at all. Like it was yesterday and not twelve years in the past.

**_„…I know you would've taken the shot Olivia."_**

**_„No, I wouldn't have. Did you really expect me to? Did you really expect me to cause your death? What about your kids?"_**

**_„I don't know. I just couldn't get that boy out of my head."_**

**_„What about me?"_**

**_„We both chose each other over the job. We can never let that happen again… otherwise… we can't be partners."_**

**_„I can't believe you're saying that."_**

**_„You and this job are about the only things I have got anymore. I don't wanna wreck that."_**

Of course he had wrecked it. The moment he had spoken these things out loud he had seen his partner shatter right next to him. Olivia had left to work with the feds shortly after. Eventually she had come back and they had figured their shit out. Not really but well, it had been enough for them to work a couple of years. Things had seemed to go better than ever between them which had been a nice change in terms of his marriage falling apart once more. And then he had shot Jenna. Fatally. It had been to moment it all had gone to shit.

Elliot hopes that his honesty isn't going to make Olivia run this time. That the underlying admissions will make her stay and give their friendship another shot. He needs that chance to do better by her because if there's one thing he can't do it's lose her. Not again.

„I say and do all the wrong things when I get scared," he breathes into the room and those tears that shimmer in her eyes fall, roll down the slope of her cheeks. „It's no apology but I care about you, Olivia. So much." Inquisitive blue eyes ask her if she understands, if she believes him. Elliot swears he sees her dark brown eyes soften, if only for a moment. „And you're right, none of this is my business but God, do I want it to be. In spite of everything, me walking away without saying anything, never picking up the phone and being too much of a coward to get in touch at some point after that? I've never stopped caring. I've never stopped seeing you as my best friend, even though I probably never treated you good enough to make you see just how important you were to me. Are. You are vital to me. Fuck, Liv, it scares me to think you're not going to therapy. It scares me to see you like this and I wish you'd let me in and…"

„And what?" Olivia chokes out, her leg tremors. „Let you fix it? You can't fix this." More tears fall. „You can't fix me, Elliot."

It's true. There's nothing he can do to fix this for her. Nothing to make it better. This one is out of his hands. But that doesn't mean he can't want to.

„I know. But what I can do is be there. And do better. Let me be there, Liv. If you need to keep pushing me away whenever I am here that's fine…but just… let me still be there." Her gazes settles on him after a long while. Elliot waits because there is nothing else he can do. He waits as she wipes away her tears, wet sunken cheeks glistening. He waits patiently. Instead of answering however, his ex-partner gets up after a long while of stifling silence. Elliot would offer his help but knows it's only going to make matters worse. Help isn't something Olivia accepts easily.

They are pretty much in limbo. With her crutch Olivia limps to the kitchen, Elliot can see her busying herself over the breakfast bar. He is facing her back as she starts to run water in the sink.

Escape is the one way she knows how to handle this situation. Olivia needs a moment to pull herself together. Once more she is at a point where she doesn't know if she wants him here or wants him gone. His words have disarmed her, at least for the time being. As hard as it is for her to believe everything Elliot had said to her she trust the sincerity in his eyes. Now that they are talking she might as well try to figure out why he had decided to come back. And because she is not brave enough to just blurt it out, Olivia goes about the question in a roundabout way.

„When you came to see me… at the hospital? Did you think I'd die?" It's the why. She needs to understand what had made him change his mind after all these years of radio silence.

Among all the things Elliot had expected, most of them leading to being kicked out of her apartment, this question surprises him.

„No," he answers with a little scoff. „Even with what I knew from Fin and seeing with my own eyes that you were in worse shape than I had expected," he admits, his eyes clouding at the memory. „-I thought for sure my partner is too stubborn to die from an infection."

In her hiding place, safe from Elliot's prying eyes, a smile creeps on Olivia's face despite herself. However, the following words are on a more serious note.

„It only hit me how close you came to dying when you went into shock." His voice is much quieter all of a sudden. They have never talked about this. „I was there."

This she didn't know. It's the first Olivia ever hears of it. While she clearly knows she had gone into septic shock resulting in emergency surgery the day before her scheduled surgery, Olivia has had no idea that Elliot had been there to witness it.

„You were there?" Her throat is clogged with an invisible lump. She shifts her position and with her free hand grabs the lip of her kitchen counter in need to find her inner balance after this revelation.

„I was there," comes his confirmation. He had been there for pretty much two days straight as far as visiting hours had allowed for someone who wasn't immediate family. He had used the hospital breaks to eat something and shower. Sleep hadn't really come to him, he had dozed at best. For the most part Olivia hadn't been responsive. Sometimes she had mumbled a few words or smiled - well, Elliot thinks she had smiled, but that hadn't mattered. He had sat there with her hour after hour, her hand clasped between his and he had just talked to her. About everything. Their partnership, his marriage, the demise of said marriage, all the mistakes he had made with her, the complexity of his feelings for her, shooting Jenna Fox, his decision to retire from the force, the six years leading up to the moment he finally had worked up the courage to see her again under the worst of circumstances. Visitation hours had come with many hours to fill and he had filled them by talking. And maybe it is for the best that the chances of her remembering his tearful apologies and professions of love and loyalty are virtually zero after she has told him she isn't sure if his apologies are something she had hallucinated. It's safe enough for now.

„Scared the hell outta me. So no, I never once thought you would die up until that moment. But when they took you away for surgery? That's when I thought I had lost you." The emotion behind his words is so raw, it makes Olivia's skin crawl. Her broken heart may insinuate a lot of things but even with the brokenness Elliot's departure from SVU and the sudden disappearance from her life had left in its wake she realizes that seeing her knocking on the proverbial gates of heaven must have had a deep impact on her former partner. It sounds like the fear, the worry, maybe even the hopelessness he had encountered in those moments are still attached to Elliot.

So there she has her first answer. The why. Elliot hadn't come to see her because he had thought she was doomed to die. He had come to make amends because he had been convinced she was going to survive.

Maybe that can be enough.

…..

**Feedback would be highly appreciated. I understand it's a very heavy subject and it's supposed to be a multi-chapter story but if it's not something people are interested in reading I'd probably rather not invest too much energy in it and focus on "Because Hearts Don't Break Around Here". Sometimes it's good to come back to things later? Wrong time and place for this one? **


	5. Begin Again

**Notes: So this chapter is very Elliot/Olivia centric because some things obviously need to be said. What is written in bold italics are actual quotes from the show - so that, like the characters, belongs to Dick Wolf and NBC. I'm just playing a bit of a cruel game with them. **

**…**

„You never called me back," Olivia states. Still not looking at him she busies herself with unnecessary things like washing the glass from earlier and putting it away, rearranging the fruit in the bowl, anything that gives her an excuse not to face him during this conversation. Olivia thinks she can hear Elliot suck in a breath from where he sits, still on her sofa, legs far apart, head bowed.

He had never called her back or gone to see her after his decision to retire. For a long time he hadn't been in the right headspace and after that his marriage had started to crumble completely. It had never been easy not to be around Olivia but at some point Elliot had lost the courage to pick up the phone like nothing had ever happened. Thinking about how he can possibly explain to Olivia he takes his time before he says something.

„I'm not sure if anything I could possibly say to explain will make sense to you. It won't change how shitty it was of me not to get in touch," he starts heavily and turns his head to look at her as she still refuses to face him. He hopes she will let him off the hook and not demand he elaborate on it.

„You could try," she offers. Whatever he is going to say might hurt her but that will still be better than the not knowing. If Elliot doesn't tell her she will always wonder. It's something that will always stand between them. And how could it not? Six years ago he had deserted her, no word, no nothing. She had found out from their Captain that Elliot had decided to retire from the NYPD.

The man winces, a sound Olivia has never heard from her ex-partner, at least not like this. Again silence dominates before he finally speaks, his voice raw.

„After the shooting," Elliot starts heavily, then clarifies. „After I shot Jenna… I didn't function for a long time, Liv," he admits quietly. It is not a time he likes to revisit, even in thought. „You called and I wanted to pick up the phone, I did but I couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to talk to you. Or anyone. But especially you." He had known what Olivia would have said to him. That it hadn't been his fault. That it had been a good shoot. That he had done what he had to do - had done his job. What he had been trained to do. But at the end of the day that wouldn't have taken away from the fact that he had shot a teenage girl, a kid. Jenna had had her whole life in front of her and Elliot had taken it. And although she would have spent it in jail, at least the girl would have lived.

Elliot can literally feel the question in the room. „You would have understood better than anyone else and at the same time that wouldn't have been any consolation to me. I didn't want to hear what you would have said. I didn't want understanding or… or anything, to be honest. I just wanted to be left alone. I was… I was in a really dark place." Elliot leaves it at that. He can't elaborate on just how dark it had been. That he hadn't slept, had barely eaten. Instead he had been drinking a lot, neglected his personal hygiene and had lost his temper with Kathy and the twins, even Eli once, more times than he could count. For months he had refused help. He had lived in a bubble of his own pain, flashbacks, alcohol and rage. Most of the time his rage had been directed at himself, often at Kathy because she had kept nagging him to get help, get himself together, reminding him he was needed. And sometimes, on the rare occasion that he had allowed himself to think of his ex-partner, it had been directed at Olivia. Because he hadn't pulled the trigger just because he had been trained to do it. He hadn't been simply in cop mode, trying to avoid further damage after Jenna had shot Sister Peg and blindly fired at anyone. No, he had acted emotional, driven by sheer fear that Jenna could shoot Olivia. That his partner would take a bullet and bleed out and die right before his eyes. It had been the only thing on his mind when he had pulled the trigger on Jenna Fox.

_Not Olivia. _

Against better judgement he had taken the easy route and blamed it on Olivia. That the woman had wormed her way under his skin and into his heart. That she had mattered so much to him that he hadn't been able to think straight. That the prospect of losing his partner had scared him to the core and made him act like that. _Made_ him.

George Huang's words had crept to the surface from a rear corner of his mind, asking how she could have made him do anything.

At the time Jenna hadn't even pointed her gun at Liv but at Eddie. But that girl had been a ticking time bomb. He hadn't cared about Eddie. At all. Not in that moment. For all Elliot had cared Jenna could have shot the bastard, put a bullet right in his head. But Olivia. Olivia. No way had he been ready to take the slightest chance.

The very moment Elliot had fired his gun and taken the fatal shot at Jenna he had known he was done. It had been a black and white situation for everyone in that bullpen. He had taken the shot because he had had to. Everyone there had been in great danger.

Only Elliot had known the truth. Nothing about it had been black and white, it had been all shades of red. He had chosen Olivia, his partner once again. He had lost interest in trying to talk Jenna down. No, he had taken that shot, he had made the conscious decision to kill a teenage girl to make sure Olivia would be out of danger. Olivia. Only Olivia. Not Eddie, not any other detective, not even himself. It had been all for Olivia.

He had had no business to carry a gun still, to return to the force and be a Detective. Once that inhibition threshold had been crossed and crossed again he had known it was time for him to leave. While Elliot had talked to IAB he had been on autopilot, answering every single question. Tucker, for once, hadn't been a complete asshole but he had made it clear that with as many digs as Elliot had in his jacket it wouldn't be easy for him to return to SVU. He'd have to jump through hoops they had said, good shoot or not. And Elliot hadn't given them any fight. It had only been later that night, when he had laid in bed that the impact of shooting Jenna had truly hit him. Just like it had been with Ryan. Just like it had been the first time he had chosen Olivia over a civilian. And how on earth is he to explain that to her?

„I get that, Elliot," she says and finally she turns around and looks at him. „I know what it's like to have to take the shot and she was a teenager around your daughter's age but I wish-," Olivia says, seeing him shake his head.

„You don't get it, Liv. You wouldn't have understood then."

„Why, because I didn't have kids then?" She retorts, the words carrying a bite. That must have been the issue. Even Fin had pointed that out, that Elliot must have been in a terrible headspace after the shooting seeing he had a kid around the same age.

„No, it had nothing to do with that, Liv," he says calmly, understanding her anger. He had just left and never contacted her again after all. She had every right to be angry with him.

„Then what?"

„It's complicated."

„What you not say," she scoffs. „How can you say you're sorry when you can't even be honest with me, Elliot?"

She wants him to be honest with her. But how can he possibly start to explain that Jenna Fox starting an out-of-control shooting had been Victor Gitano at Grand Central all over again? Her eyes bore holes into him and Elliot scrubs his hands across his face.

„Liv…"

„No, Elliot. This isn't…"

„You don't understand."

„How am I supposed to understand something you won't talk to me about?"

„You don't understand because it wasn't a good shoot."

„What are you talking about, Elliot, of course it was. If you wouldn't have taken that shot someone else would have, given the chance. You know that. You had no…"

„Choice?" He asks and looks at Olivia with resignation. Maybe he would have taken that shot anyway. Maybe he would have tried to talk Jenna down, get her to trust him and put the gun down. There are a lot of maybes and what ifs but it all boils down to the same thing. It's not why he had taken that shot. And God knows he hadn't felt an ounce of regret when Jenna uttered her last words and died as he knelt over her. All he had been thinking had been how he had done the right thing. That Olivia was safe. That nothing was going to harm her. The guilt had only hit him hours later and at full force at that. He had killed a teenage girl. He had taken a life. Maybe he hadn't aimed to kill, he had wanted to incapacitate Jenna in the very first place but he has had that odd feeling when he had pulled the trigger that it would be fatal. So in the end it had been all the same. Elliot had killed Jenna Fox.

„When she pointed that gun at Eddie, Olivia, all I could think was that she was unpredictable. That she'd go for you. That she'd shoot _you._" In the grand scheme of things it may not make a difference but to him it does. It would have to IAB. And it sure as hell will to Olivia, too. Tucker that bastard had been completely right by telling him keeping his shield and staying with SVU would be damn near impossible.

„I don't understand what you are saying, Elliot."

„I didn't give a damn if she would have put a bullet through Eddie's head, Liv. I didn't give a damn if she'd had shot at anyone in that room. But to think she could point her gun at you, that she'd… that I'd lose _you. _It wasn't a good shoot," he clarifies. „Not when my motivation is taken into account. And to realize that…" He shakes his head and looks at her sadly. „I couldn't talk to you about any of that, Liv. I wanted to see you more than anyone and at the same time I knew you were the last person I could talk to. But I did know that I couldn't return to SVU. I couldn't be your partner after that and… I also knew I didn't want an other. So what was there left for me to do except turn in my shield?"

The words she hears him say, the shame at the confession that settles on his face - it knocks the air from Olivia's lungs. Understanding slowly sets in. Elliot had fired his gun because he had been scared for her life. Just like when he had chosen to come to her aid when Gitano's knife had cut her on her neck instead of following their perp and trying to save Ryan who had been just a young boy they had subsequently found dead minutes later.

In that instant Olivia remembers the conversation they have had afterwards, once they had found Ryan's sister alive.

**_„We both chose each other over the job. We can never let that happen again otherwise… we can't be partners."_**

It's as sickening as it is sobering and it holds all the answers to questions that had tormented and haunted Olivia for years. She has never not wondered why Elliot had just left her and never cared to explain. And now she knows. The truth is right there for her to take and accept.

Elliot had let it happen again. He had chosen Olivia over the job and at the very same time he hadn't. Shooting Jenna Fox hadn't been a mistake. And yet Elliot had just admitted that his motivation had been selfish. It had been about her. He had wanted to make sure she was safe in the first place, everything else had been of minor importance to him.

Olivia had been sure she would give Elliot a fight no matter what he'd tell her. And now she can't. How could she possibly give him hell after this reveal? They have been there before with the Gitano case. Elliot had chosen her over running after Ryan, she had refused to take a shot at a sadistic pedophile because the chances of hurt or worse killing her partner had been too great. Apart from that they had been too close for years. They had crossed the line countless times. The truth underneath it all is that there had been nothing Olivia wouldn't have done for her partner. Their trust in each other had been implicit. If Olivia were to be honest it might as well have been her instead of Elliot. She could have been the one who had shot Jenna Fox for fear for Elliot's life. She gets how very fucked up it is but with them it had always been this way. It had been all blurred lines and transgressions. Their partnership had been driven by the heart, not the mind. And that in itself had been dangerous. In hindsight, after years of experience as SVU's commanding officers, as a Lieutenant, she wonders how Cragen had allowed them to be partnered despite IAB's objections and a psych eval that had clearly stated they had been too close. Maybe all of it had been a matter of time, something that had been bound to happen. One of them had been meant to fuck it up and take the road to ruin.

She can see Elliot's eyes droop when she doesn't say anything and her ex-partner averts his gaze. It is a bit of a bomb he had dropped between them after all this time. Also there is so much between the lines she can't begin to grasp. What had driven him to get into that mind set of putting her before everyone else in that situation? And what the hell had he said to IAB at all? Had he admitted he had been worried for his partner more than anyone else? Had that been why Cragen had told her returning would have meant for Elliot to jump through hoops? Had there been an ultimatum? A threat? And does she even want to know?

The dead silence in the room is broken by the sound of Olivia's crutch and footsteps as she heavily hauls her body towards her liquor cabinet, where she keeps the hard stuff. With some difficulty she reaches the Whisky and silently offers it to him once she has hobbled over to where Elliot sits. He looks up at her and she tries to encourage him to take it by thrusting the bottle closer to his face.

„I'd give you a glass but there's only so much I can carry at once," she points out dryly. It's almost comical and she accentuates that with a tiny smile. That does the trick because Elliot accepts the beverage and twists off the cap. He reciprocates her smile and takes a sip from the bottle. It's a good brand that's on the more expensive end of the spectrum, so it goes down smoothly and settles in his stomach with a warm and rich quality. Olivia plops down heavily next to him and shifts her body into a position that's comfortable. He has noticed that she does that a lot, that it's hard for her to find comfort. Elliot thinks it is because her entire body is tense since the accident.

„That's a good Whisky," he points out, checking out the label, because he isn't sure what else to talk about after the heavy topic they have just discussed. It is something he had hoped he would never have to reveal to Olivia. His shrink knew, he had figured that was good enough.

„It was a gift." Barba had given it to her following a particularly rough case after he had noticed that she enjoys the occasional stiff drink. The man is a real connoisseur when it comes to Whisky. He even has his favorite label imported from Scotland.

„Boyfriend?" He enquires, wondering. There is no one in her life now, Elliot knows that much. For a while she had been dating Brian Cassidy and Lord knows how the hell that had happened. From what Elliot had heard they had even lived together in this very apartment. As much as he thinks Cassidy and Olivia are a terrible fit at the time Cragen had mentioned the relationship to him in passing he had been glad his ex-partner had found someone who had been there for her, especially after Lewis. Of course Elliot had heard about it through the media. The kidnapping of a NYPD member had been big local news after all. It would have been impossible to miss.

Timidly he glances at Olivia who shakes her head. „Our ADA."

Rafael is more than that, of course. He has become a close friend, someone Olivia had come to lean on. They talk on the phone occasionally but she hasn't seen much of him since the accident. It seems that Barba is taking her physical impairment especially hard. The very few times he had come by after the accident he had hardly known what to talk about with her as if he had tried to ignore the elephant in the room. She doesn't even blame him because at least his reaction is real. He is the only one who doesn't put on a brave face and had admitted to her that he just doesn't know what to say. It's something she appreciates. So when they talk it's in short bursts on the phone and that is quite alright. Barba doesn't get on her nerves. In a way it is exactly what she needs.

„He any good?"

„Barba's…," she starts, trying to compare him to someone, realizing she can't. Rafa is something else. „He's aggressive, ruthless, smart. He's… in a sense he's the best SVU has ever had."

„That sounds like you get along."

„We do," she agrees. She had been close to Alex and over time had grown close to Casey as well. Then again after the first weeks with Novak and Olivia's initial opinion of the woman the only way for that relationship to go had been up. It would have been hard to get any worse.

„That's good." It's smalltalk. And they had never done much of that in the past. While it's awkward and new it's also oddly comforting. In the past, during their time as partners, their communication had been characterized by either heavy conversation or silence. There had hardly been an in-between. In the worst of times they had fought hard, almost passionately. It's a miracle to Elliot that their partnership had lasted for almost thirteen years in spite of their miscommunications.

„Yeah, I guess." Her leg starts to throb harder, a clear sign that the wine is wearing off quickly. There is a tremor and Olivia expects a cramp within the next few minutes. It's not yet time for her pills although she entertains the idea of taking two anyway, just to take the edge off before Noah gets home in about an hour. Her patience wears alarmingly thin when the pangs are this bad. Eying the bottle she wishes she could just indulge in the whisky. Clearly that wouldn't be a good idea. Having a glass or two of wine is a far cry from a shot of whisky, at least that what her mind screams at her. And with Noah coming home soon she definitely shouldn't drink. However, Elliot bringing the bottle to his mouth a second time doesn't help. It also brings back the reason for his drinking.

„I understand it." It comes out of the blue as she watches her ex-partner, the bottle of the dark golden liquid dangling from between his thumb and index-finger between his legs. „What happened with Jenna. I understand it."

What she is really saying is that she can see herself doing the same had roles been reversed. Olivia had been in Jenna's line of fire more than Elliot had been behind his desk. It's nothing short of a miracle that neither of them had been hit by a bullet when the shooting had started. Nobody had seen it coming, least of all Olivia. Again her leg tremors; right when Elliot is looking her in the eyes. There is an understanding in the deep blue depths. It can't be that hard to imagine, she thinks. They have been there before after all. It had been just another line crossed.

„That doesn't make it any easier to admit," he offers hesitantly.

„No, it doesn't." Olivia gives him that. In fact this entire thing could have gotten Elliot in hell's kitchen. It's not something she can imagine would have been well received by IAB, especially not with Tucker involved. He had done the right thing for the wrong reasons. „Did you tell IAB?" The look on his face, the horror she sees in it tell her the answer before Elliot does verbally.

Good. Because although it is a known fact that their partnership had been too close for comfort, at least when it comes to the professional quality of things, this is something nobody had to know.

„That would have put you on the spot, too," he states. Until he had said it this hasn't even occurred to Olivia. It could have caused a great deal of problems for Olivia. Potentially it could have threatened her career. Something like this would have caused not only IAB but also the brass to question the extent of their relationship; with all of the rumors surrounding their partnership it would have been the final nail in the coffin. No question would it have compromised any ambition to climb the ladder or cost Olivia her job at worst. „I would have never done that to you, Liv. What happened there - that was on me. I wasn't going to drag you down with me."

When he looks at her from the corner of his eye she chews on the inside of her cheek. Of course he would have never risked to hurt her career.

„I didn't even think of that," she admits.

„Maybe I should have talked to you. After the separation… I wanted to, Olivia. Before that I couldn't. But once I moved out it was pretty damn lonely. My kids wouldn't talk to me, I hardly saw Eli because Kathy refused to leave him with me unless I kept seeing my shrink," he scoffs, although in retrospect it had been for the best. „But a year had gone by and whenever I picked up the phone I couldn't dial your number, thinking that so much time had passed. I was convinced you had made your peace with the situation and I tried to find mine." He never had, of course. Not a day had gone by that he hadn't thought of Olivia and wondered how she was doing. Up until Cragen's retirement Elliot had been in touch with his former captain, albeit very sporadically. They have never discussed Olivia in depth, Cragen had only ever given him enough to make sure his former detective wouldn't worry about his ex-partner. When Elliot had found out that Olivia had made taken the Sergeant's exam he first started to feel that he had something right by leaving the force. Liv had been thriving without him. She had taken opportunities presented to her, had focused on herself instead of him and his baggage. Although he had missed her terribly he couldn't help but realize that these developments had everything to do with his absence from her life. Even from afar he had been incredibly proud of her.

After everything she had been through, especially with William Lewis, Olivia had still managed to grow.

_Lewis._

In the aftermath of Olivia's kidnapping Elliot had wanted nothing more than to see her, convince himself that she had truly been alright. Well, as alright as someone can possibly be after what the bastard had put her through. When he had talked to Cragen the man had hardly given Elliot anything much, he had merely encouraged him to contact his ex-partner. But then his former Captain had mentioned that Olivia had been seeing Cassidy, had even moved in with him, and Elliot hadn't found the courage to go and see her and possibly wreck havoc on her domestic life. As much as he had hated the idea of Olivia with Cassidy, he had wanted for her to be happy even more. And if Brian fucking Cassidy could do that, he had figured then so be it. He had stayed away. With Cragen's retirement however the irregular bits and pieces he had learned about Olivia post his retirement had stopped abruptly. He hadn't known about the end of her relationship with Cassidy or the fact she had adopted a little baby boy. 

Those holes had only been filled in by Fin once his former fellow detective had shown up at his door at night and told Elliot about the accident and Olivia's subsequent life-threatening infection.

As Olivia listens it feels as if he rips those wounds her heart had suffered open with every word from his mouth. How can he possibly think she had ever found her peace? What she had done was she had learned to live with it. With his absence, with the hurt, the worry and eventually with the anger she had felt towards him. With the growing professional relationship and friendship that had developed between herself and Nick and Noah's adoption, with her new duties as CO her focus had shifted. But it had never not hurt. She had never truly gotten over the loss of the man who had once been everything to her.

No matter what Olivia had tried, the sore had remained. Her romance with David had been a short-lived distraction that had ended quite painfully. The initial intrigue Olivia had felt towards the EADA that had temporarily been assigned to SVU by the District's Attorney's Office had quickly turned to infatuation when she had gotten to know the man better. They had worked well together, as well as Olivia hadn't worked with anyone in quite some time. Conversation over drinks about work had turned to conversation about their personal lives. David had been interested but not too direct. He had also sensed that there must have been something that had impacted Olivia's life greatly not too long ago and in return she had disclosed she was kind of getting over someone, although probably not quite in the way he had thought. Elliot and her had never been romantically involved after all. A take-out dinner at her home after they had decided to take the pressure off because Olivia hadn't been ready to disclose their fresh relationship to either of their bosses had brought that whole ordeal to the surface. At the time Olivia hadn't been entirely sure if she had been ready for the next step with David. However, he had made her feel safe, had assured her that he understood.

**_„Is that what you meant by taking it slow and taking the pressure off?" _**Olivia had asked him when David had answered her question if he had seen something else he liked from the different menus of various delivery services she used frequently.

When he had answered her that he did and had looked at her, she had actually felt his eyes with the intense gaze directed at her on her, she had felt coy and somewhat timid. They had started seeing each other just a couple of weeks before that night and because Olivia had really liked David she had wanted to take it one step at a time. As it had turned out David had been a few steps ahead of her already. The idea of sex hadn't scared her and truthfully, it had been a hell of a long time since she had last slept with a man. She had tried to defuse the situation somewhat, had tried to buy a little time to consider it. Sex in a relationship had always been a big step for her. But David had called her bluff, aware that there had been a little more below the surface Olivia had been struggling with.

**_„What's wrong?" _**

She had laughed softly, a little helplessly even, stammering: **_Nothing's wrong. I'm… I'm… uh - this…" _**What she had thought would happen that night was they'd have dinner, talk. Nothing too heavy. What she had thought would happen was he'd leave afterwards.

**_„Listen, hey." _**It had been a quite overwhelming situation. Olivia had felt silly for making something so simply complicated and had tried to shake the discomfort off. It hadn't been him, not at all. **_„I understand. This is really hard for you." _**

Just like that David had spelled it out. It had been hard. Incredibly hard. The person she had trusted the most, had cared about the most had simply walked out on her with no warning, no explanation. Elliot had never even gotten in touch and by that had made Olivia question everything. But something about what David had said, the way he had looked at her had struck a chord with Olivia. So, she had listened and not avoided the conversation.

**_„But whatever it is, I can handle it. I'm not going anywhere. Okay?" _**Although Olivia hadn't been aware of it, his words had been exactly what she had needed to hear. The fact she had been going through something, that there had been things she had needed to come to terms with was okay with him. He could handle it and carry her through it. She had felt a million pounds lighter in an instant. Sleeping together wouldn't mean for David to turn it into something bigger than it was. He had just told her that everything could still be on her terms. It had given her a boost in confidence.

**_„Okay." _**

In hindsight Olivia thinks it had been the moment she had fallen in love with David. They had never ordered dinner that night. Instead they had made love. It hadn't been urgent. He had really taken his time with her and had been incredibly gentle and in a way it had mended her broken heart. They had spent the entire weekend together at her apartment and had only left it once to shop for groceries. It had been really domestic. They had cooked together, watched a couple of movies cuddled up on her sofa and played cards over a bottle of wine in the evening. They had shared another in the bedroom that second night, had made love again. And again. And surprisingly David had made her feel safe and almost complete in those hours. While it hadn't been the best sex Olivia had ever had, he had been a very attentive lover, giving and very focused on finding out what made her feel good. Their jobs and the implications their personal involvement might have if they should decide to disclose to their bosses hadn't mattered for those two days at all. Olivia had slept in David's shirt, something that had felt oddly intimate to her. She had woken in his arms when Cragen had called her in to work, letting her know she was expected at the home of a missing 16-year-old girl.

The dreamy state they had experienced in the safety of Olivia's apartment over the weekend hadn't lasted very long. A few days later things had started to get complicated when Olivia had expected or at least hoped for David's help with a case involving sex trafficking on the internet through a well-known advertising platform. David had made it blatantly clear that they couldn't call in any chits on each other if they wanted for their relationship to work. While he had of course had a point the realization had been sobering for Olivia. Nothing about this relationship would be uncomplicated. And in the end they had ended the same way they had started. Quickly. Unexpectedly. There had been a conflict of interest and David had chosen his career over her. And while that had hurt Olivia had understood. It hadn't been long enough, not secure enough to make any other decision.

She had met Brian again about a year later and it had been loneliness that had driven her into the arms of the man who had once been her fellow Detective in her early days with SVU. Brian had been wonderfully familiar, not a stranger. Although he had been rough around the edges he had had his heart in the right place. And back in the day he had been crazy about her. The relationship couldn't have been any more different from what she had shared with David. It had been fast and intense. The only thing the two relationships had in common had been the secrecy. Her and Brian had only gotten really serious after Lewis had kidnapped her and they ended up co-habitating in the apartment they had rented together and is now hers. She knows now that it had been much too soon. The seriousness hadn't worked for Cassidy. And while Olivia had loved Brian, she had never truly been in love with him.

And Tucker. God, she doesn't want to think about Tucker. Olivia isn't sure what in God's name had convinced her that dating the man had been a good idea. It had gone well for a little while. They had even been to Paris together. He had understood the job better than anyone and had known what things not to discuss. But when he had wanted to take the next step and had started to talk retirement and starting a life together she had known it wasn't going to work. While Olivia had always wanted to find someone to share a life with, she had realized it hadn't been Ed Tucker she wanted it with.

So no, she had never found her peace. She had moved on, which is entirely different.

„You really think that? That when you left after thirteen years and never even let me know-," she shakes her head, her leg screams as a jolt of pain shoots through it. „- that I was okay with that?" It makes her wonder if Elliot had really ever known her at all. „Do you have any idea how hard it was to move on? To accept my new partner? To… to find out who I am without you as a cop and as a human?"

„Liv… you… you achieved so much during that time. And I can't help but wonder if I have held you back for all those years as partners," he admits, exhaling heavily. He puts the bottle down on her coffee table but leaves the cap screwed off thinking he might just need a few more sips of liquid courage.

„And even if you did, that doesn't mean it was right for you not to reach out." It's like a slap across the face to hear his excuses. So he had been in a bad place for quite some time. She understands that. But six years are a hell of a long time to ignore someone.

„I didn't want to complicate your life, Liv. I've fucked so much up. My marriage has fallen apart and that's pretty much on me. I was just so tired of pretending that it could work. My kids have resented me for it up until a couple of years ago. It took me three years to pick myself back up enough to take a job. I was a mess and you were doing well from what I have heard. I didn't have anything to offer you then and I was scared shitless that you'd tell me to fuck off. It's been such a long time…"

„So what, it took me to be in a worse place than you for you to take some pity on me and come see me? Do you realize how fucked up that is?"

„I do realize that. And I am so sorry for that, Olivia. If I could change it I would. I never meant to hurt you. I honestly thought that you wouldn't want to see me. That I would be much too late. I'm not even asking for your forgiveness, Liv," he says quietly and glances at her, folding his hands. „I know that's a process and something I will have to work for. That I have to prove myself. I can only hope that one day you will be able to trust me again. I meant what I said earlier. I want to be here for you. Not because of the accident but just because you are you. I'd like to see if we can…," Words fail him and he swallows despite the lump in his throat. „I'd like to see what we can be." He leaves that open because he is down for whatever Olivia has to offer.

„I don't know what we can be, Elliot. I thought we were friends and now I'm just no longer sure. Do I care about you? Yes, I do. I always have. But I honestly don't know if that is enough," she whispers. Again her leg shakes and she wonders if her internal imbalance influences the tremors. Elliot notices, watches as her leg convulses. It makes her feel self-conscious. Part of her wants to scream at him that her eyes are up here, as fascinating as the independent existence of her leg seems to be to him.

„Can we at least try, Liv? Please?" He sounds small. So small. And that in itself screws with her head. Obviously he has no idea how hard it is to be around him. All the feelings and fears his mere presence stirs up every time he shows up. When it comes to Elliot Olivia simply doesn't know what she wants. She wants him here and she doesn't. She wants to be angry but when she is it doesn't last for long because he's still Elliot, he still gets to her, still affects her in all the right and all the wrong ways.

Her head says that there is no harm in trying. Her heart screams that she needs to protect herself. He had left once, he might just leave again. Only this time she is much more vulnerable. She no longer has the safety net of her job, nothing much to focus on and bury the pain under. Should he leave again, Olivia isn't sure if she is going to survive it a second time around. She hardly keeps holding on as it is.

Right now she doesn't have an answer. She understands a little better why he hadn't gotten in touch after the shooting. But it doesn't change that he had chosen not to contact her in six years. That it had taken her life hanging on a very thin thread for him to come and see her. It's not about forgiveness, it's about self-preservation.

„Can you give me some time to think about it?" What she needs is a few days to weigh her options. She isn't saying she wants him completely out of her life but at this point she isn't sure what she has to offer. They might never grow as close as they have once been and maybe anything less will be too painful.

„Yes, of course." She can hear he had hoped for something else. He has that sad puppy look on his face and it doesn't suit the Elliot Stabler she has once known at all.

„I just need a few days to… digest all this," Olivia explains. It has been a lot. First he had admitted to camping outside her apartment to see if she is going to therapy and then, after all this time, he had opened up about the shooting and his subsequent absence from her life. Right now it's too much to deal with.

„That's understandable."

„I'll… erm… I'll call you."

And that is that. She doesn't need to say the actual words for him to know that he is expected to leave. To think he might never be invited back unsettles him. But what is he to do? He has to accept her boundaries and grant her the space she is asking for.

„Okay." Making it easy for her he gets up from the sofa. He kneads his hands, looks at her as he's fumbling for something to say. He comes up empty. Eventually he makes his way to the door but each step is exhausting.

„And Elliot?"

At his name he stops, waiting for her to speak.

„Thank you for telling me. It… it means a lot." Olivia sees his shoulders sink as he nods wordlessly. Her heart aches at the view of him by her door as he reaches out for the doorknob, ready to leave. A part of her is about to change her mind. She almost asks him to wait. To stay. Against better judgement. It's the cramp that paralyzes her momentarily, hitting her so unexpectedly that she can't breathe. And then he is gone and Olivia sinks into the cushions of her sofa, getting lost in the pain that steals her ability to grasp a single clear thought.

….

**End notes: Well, well… what do you guys think about this chapter, dear readers? Should Elliot have told Olivia as much as he has? And should she agree to try and rebuild that friendship or does she have enough on her plate as is? Where will those two go from here? I'd love to hear your thoughts and input. Let me know if you liked it or not. **


	6. And I was lost

**Notes: Well, well… it's been a while, I know. I'm terribly sorry but life's a bit hectic lately.**

**…**

Almost two weeks pass and Elliot still hasn't heard a thing from Olivia after their conversation at her home about transgressions and boundaries.

And Jenna.

The thought that he has really fucked it all up this time comes creeping in a little more each day. Elliot had reached for his phone countless times wanting to call. He had never actually found the courage to do so, thinking he should honor her request for time. She had told him she'd call him after all. Then again she had explicitly asked for a few days, not weeks. Officially sitting between a rock and a hard place feels pretty damn uncomfortable.

Elliot had thought it all through since then. Of course everything Olivia had said is true. There had never been a time he had truly cared about her privacy while he had kept himself very guarded most of the time. While he had prioritized her wellbeing, he hadn't really minded how his actions would make her feel. Or how they'd affect their relationship and then partnership. Never. Not truly. It probably comes with being a selfish bastard, he thinks humorously.

Now, two weeks later, sitting on his small sofa, cradling a beer in his hands, it all comes crashing down. He should have thought this one through before rushing to action and planting his car in front of her building, waiting on her, hoping she'd leave the apartment to go to her therapy appointments. At least he should have kept it to himself when he had realized she isn't going. Instead he had eventually gone up with guns blazing, demanding of her to open her door and explain herself to him. As if that would have flown with Olivia Benson. What the hell had he been thinking?

Well, he hadn't. He hadn't been thinking at all, it's as easy as that. Elliot had once again been driven by fear and concern, by worry, by some skewed sense of protection towards his former partner.

When he had left the force he hadn't been there to give her the news. He had been unable to protect Olivia from being held hostage by a psychopath and whatever the hell that sick fuck had done to her - all things he doesn't even have an idea of. All of it is one big question mark. Of course he might not be much wiser about it if he had been there because she is Olivia. And Olivia is not the kind of person who shares easily, not something like _that_ anyway. Whatever _that_ is. The accident… - one more thing he had failed to prevent. Not that he could have, even if he had been around. The accident is all on that idiot that had caused it. It's all Elliot knows. That it hadn't been Olivia's fault but someone else's.

So he wants to be there for her now. It's all he had wanted to make her see when he had told her she needs to go to therapy. Only he hadn't considered how it would make her feel, how badly she would take it. Just like all the times before. Some things he will never learn.

When Olivia had woken up after her surgery and had been lucid for the first time since he had last seen her six years ago he had half expected her to tell him to go to hell. Surprisingly she had only looked at him for a very long time, seemingly trying to comprehend, to fit him into the situation. Eventually she had just uttered a quiet greeting. They had taken it from there. Slowly. She had never questioned why he had come to see her then, or why he had just left without a word. They both had pretty much ignored all the elephants in the room that had painted their present grey.

A lot was out in the open now. Not all of it. Some things possibly never will be. While it's between the lines, pieces of a puzzle, Elliot is lacking the courage to spell it out for Olivia. He had always felt too damned much. But it's not the time to tell Liv how he had felt about her, his then partner. Or how it had had everything to do with his decision to walk away from not only the job but also her. Well, her in the very first place to be completely honest. It's not the time to make it about him.

He takes a swig and drains the bottle. His second for the night, likely not his last. Thoughts keep running in circles. They haven't spent a lot of time together in the past six months. He had brought food and groceries regularly but thinking about it Elliot realizes he had never stayed for very long. He had never been allowed to stay for too long. It had been an hour here, half an hour there. A lot of that time they had spent in silence. The undercurrent of annoyance had always been swimming in her words and actions. While he had been back in Olivia's life, Elliot had always known he hadn't been entirely welcome. Two weeks ago they had somewhat cleared the air and Elliot had hoped it could be a fresh, albeit delicate start. A positive sign, a step in the right direction. That hope had started to wane when Olivia hadn't gotten in touch within a week.

And by God, he misses her. Although he had lived without her for so many years, he had never not missed her but he had managed, he had pulled through. Now it feels so much harder than it ever had. He physically aches for her proximity. There's nothing he wouldn't give to hear her voice, to speak to her. Even Olivia's anger would be a welcome distraction from the void he feels within him without her.

Despite his best efforts Elliot can't even maintain a facade. Rick, that's what his oldest son is called these days, and he can't quite get used to not saying ‚Dickie', had called him out on it yesterday when they had taken Eli to his dance class and gone for pizza after. Of course Elliot had told him it's nothing. That he's fine. And naturally Rick hadn't bought it and had brought up Olivia. They know. About the accident and her subsequent impairment. That they are back in touch. And the rest of it - well, Elliot figures they at least assume. Dickie - pardon, Rick hadn't asked the million dollar question just to spite them all these years ago after all.

**_„How ´bout you Detective, ever sleep with your parnter?" _**

That one. Had been a real kick to the gut. It had made him furious at the time. The insinuation. The audacity. As if he would have slept with his partner, cheated on his wife, cheated on his family.

It had made him furious, but not because it hadn't been true. It had hit home. A little too close. Of course he had never slept with Olivia. But fuck, he had _wanted_ to. Elliot had been furious because it had felt like his son had caught him red-handed bathing in sinful fantasies of his very attractive partner and himself going at it hot and heavy. But that's a different story.

It had taken a very long time, years, for him to mend his relationship with Richard, especially after Kathy and him had split up for good and gotten a divorce. He knows the kids had blamed it all on him, thinking he hadn't tried hard enough. Especially Richard hadn't missed out on any chance to let him know. As much as it had hurt, Elliot realizes that he had been young, probably too young to understand how complicated adult relationships and marriages can be. His son had come around after his first long-term relationship of two and a half years had ended, something that had probably put some things into perspective for the young man. Richard had had a point, of course. Elliot had not tried too hard when things had come to an end. But that doesn't mean he hadn't tried before that, for years. Maybe even for a decade.

Things hadn't been right for a very long time between Kathy and Elliot. Unfortunately they hadn't had a healthy culture of conflict, either. When there had been a problem Kathy had been pretty straight forward while Elliot… well, let's say he had been a master at avoidance. Him being a hothead hadn't helped matters when they had eventually come to blows. But neither had his ex-wife's propensity to make him sleep on the couch after an intense fight or the fact she wouldn't let him touch her for weeks to come sometimes.

When you know you are no longer welcome in your marital bed over a disagreement you find yourself in a lonely place. You start to become more aware of other people. Other women. You start feeling things you shouldn't for someone you shouldn't. And eventually there comes a time you just stop caring, stop trying.

At some point Elliot had realized he just wanted out. Without the job, without a purpose - hell, especially without Olivia he had finally been able to see clear. His home hadn't felt like home at all. And Kathy hadn't felt like his wife but more like a stranger. Mentally he had been fucked up enough to show her how little he had still cared. He physically couldn't pretend anymore. He hadn't wanted to either. The day Kathy had told him to get out had been the first time Elliot had felt free for a hell of a long time. So he hadn't put up a fight at all.

For a couple of years now things have been going well. Rick has really come a long way since his teenage years. He has grown so much. Grown up. He looks like a man and damn, he acts like a man. While he had seen it with Maureen and even Kathleen, it's so uncanny to him when it comes to Dickie. Richard. Rick.

At the thought he scoffs. Elliot's eyes flit to a picture of his five kids on the wall, taken on Kathleen's 27th birthday. Elizabeth had put it up. Well, actually she had decorated this entire place because she had taken pity on how he lived in this ‚dump of a bachelor pad'. Apparently his second-hand sofa that he had found on Craiglist had been an outdated sore on the eyes (Elliot himself had found nothing wrong with it), the carpeting, according to her, had been ugly and overall the place had been depressing. Well, she hadn't been entirely wrong about the last one but that might have had more to do with the fact that he had been very fucked up mentally. After almost four years of Elizabeth's incessant nagging and pleading Elliot had finally given in, allowing her to make a few changes. Within three months his youngest daughter had turned his place into an actual home. It reminds him of something straight from the Ikea catalogue but he can't deny that Elizabeth has done a great job with the place. There are no frills, what he has in terms of decorations is all pretty functional. It's all stripped down to the bare essentials but in contrast to before it is all very tastefully done. There are a couple of low-maintance plants, one on his tv unit, one in the corner near the small book shelf. A few pictures adorn the walls. Two pillows and a patchwork blanket in shades of blue and gray draped across the rest make his sofa look quite inviting. Although he hadn't cared about how the apartment had looked before Elizabeth had laid hand on it he has to admit that he's proud of the way it looks now. Very clean and adult. Not something he would have to be embarrassed about when showing it to Olivia.

Olivia.

It all leads back to her one way or another.

Glancing at his phone as if he could make it ring by willpower Elliot sighs. He had lived without her for six years, knows what it's like. And he doesn't want to go back and do it all over again. This time around he doesn't think he will survive not having Olivia in his life. He's missed out on too damned much already.

She has become a mother in his absence for fuck's sake. Elliot hadn't actually known how much she had ached to have a child up until she had confided in him about adoption agencies turning her down. Somehow he had always just seen her as Olivia. Mostly single, dedicated cop, beyond beautiful Olivia.

It's funny how her relationship status over most of the time he had worked with her comes to mind first. Or maybe that's tragic, because he had liked her being single just fine. No guy she had ever dated, well, of those he had gotten to know one way or an other, had been good enough for her.

Olivia had always been great with kids. With victims. People that needed nurturing in general. Somehow figuring out she wanted children had thrown him. It really shouldn't have surprised him as much as it had.

Maybe neither should have when Cragen had mentioned her relationship with Cassidy. That goddamn shtick. Elliot hadn't seen the guy for almost two decades so in his head the dude is still the baby detective that couldn't cut it. Brian has had it bad for Olivia then so it had not so much been a grand revelation that he had been game. But her? How the hell had that even happened?

Any capacity for rational thought goes out the window whenever he as much as tries to picture Cassidy and Liv. He sees them as this dysfunctional couple, pretending to have something when really they hadn't. The fact they are no longer a thing only proves that, doesn't it?

Elliot chuckles to himself. It hardly takes any effort at all to come up with some irrational scenario about a relationship he doesn't know the first thing about except it had existed at one point in history.

It's utterly pathetic that he sits here and thinks about this. Time passes and Olivia is likely alone most of it. While she has a tight network of friends Elliot knows all too well how she shuts the world out, especially since the accident. She hates the company, the concern, the ‚you'll be okay' attitude that he is guilty off, too and he knows it. He had said it countless times and truth is, he had never been quite sure if she would. Maybe there is no such thing as Olivia being okay at some point. Not when so much had been taken from her on the day of the crash.

He wants to make it better for her and he can't. The feeling of helplessness is crippling at times. Elliot wants to be what she needs and he has no idea what that even is. Probably she doesn't know either. And maybe that's why she hasn't called. So, he holds onto that and hopes against hope that she will come around.

…..

Three weeks later and Olivia has perfected her daily routine. It's almost amusing how pathetic her life is these days. The nights aren't getting better, she still hardly sleeps at all. She stares at the ceiling, sometimes for hours. When she is lucky and her mind gives her a break she doesn't think of anything, doesn't even feel anything - well, except of the constant pain in her left lower leg that is. But when she's not so lucky at all then it's hell. A few months ago she had felt helpless. Now she feels that she is far beyond help. Nothing and no-one can possibly help her. Her life is what it is. And truthfully, she starts to think it's no longer worth living. For the most part she holes up in her apartment, at least that way nobody stares at her. She can sit with Netflix streaming some show or movie (she had eventually quit How I Met Your Mother in the middle of Season 4), a glass of wine (or two) and not be bothered by people. She finds enough peace to doze off and catch up on the sleep she never seems to get during the night. Sometimes she doesn't even wake for hours at a time. Might be because she pops her pain killers like candy these days to make her existence bearable at all.

Olivia swears everything hurts by now. Her leg, her head, her stomach, her hands. It's an all-consuming feeling. At times it's so intense that she can't even think. Her doctor says it's psychosomatic which basically translates to her being a lunatic. He strongly recommends she keeps seeing her therapist.

She still hasn't gone back to therapy. Not to see Swinton and not to her physical therapy appointments either. Amanda had something to say about it but Olivia had made no apologies. It's not like they could drag her there. Surprisingly Fin is keeping his mouth shut about it because he respects her enough to not throw shit in her face like only a perfectly healthy person can. He knows her well. Any fight they give her only make her more defiant. Must be something in her blood.

On the rare occasion she can't fall asleep during the day when Noah is at school she resumes to what she does best at night. She stares. At nothing in particular. Once she had actually picked up one of her books on the book shelf It's just decoration these days). She had read through twenty-two pages. Nothing at all had registered with her. Fuck, she had really disconnected from herself, from the world, from… everything in that moment. The body she is in feels foreign.

Speaking of breaking the routine, she had actually tried what Dr. Swinton had suggested. She had gone out. To a coffee shop. Thing is, it hadn't felt like a victory at all. It hadn't been bad but it hadn't been good or satisfying, either. It had just… been. Olivia hadn't cared about it much. She had gone in, had ordered a coffee - decaf, because with never eating nearly enough caffeine made her heart race and her hands shaky - and she had left. It isn't like she hadn't tried very hard. In fact Olivia had waited to feel something. Anything. But she hadn't and so the beverage in the tall paper cup had ended up in the trash before she had taken a sip.

What good could it possibly do anyway? Going out to get a coffee isn't going to make her life better, the injury less severe. She's done, she realizes. And it sinks in more with every day. This is it now. It's not going to get better. Trapped in a broken body her reluctance to walking into a café is the least of her issues.

It's lonely. But she chooses this. The loneliness. It wouldn't take more than a call and someone would be there. Fin. Amanda. Barba. Well, maybe not Barba. She wonders if he'll ever be able to deal with what has happened to her, if he'll ever get used to seeing her with her crutch and the severe limp.

Elliot.

Fuck, she had very successfully not been thinking about him for a couple of days. That in itself is quite the accomplishment seeing how she had tried for weeks now. And well, years before that. Then again she is aware that she is sinking into her depression a bit more with each day, so maybe it's not as astonishing at all. Everything stops to matter to her, so why shouldn't he? It's only logical that he slips from her mind now, too.

See, she is very self-aware. No need for a shrink to tell her she's borderline depressed. She's dealt with enough victims and done her homework, too to know all the signs.

Feeling this emptiness, the sadness, the helplessness - it is all starting to become her new normal. There are moments when she can't remember what life has been like when she had still been intact, physically and mentally.

…

She cracks. For months she hadn't allowed herself to fall apart, not really. There had been parts of her life she had kept together but fuck, not anymore. The time has come where she is only hanging on by a thread, she thinks. It's the middle of the night and it really had been nothing out of the ordinary for her to waste her night away in her bedroom, staring at the ceiling, thoughts running in circles. Well, until she had tried to imagine what the moment would feel like pain-free. Without the sharp pangs that feel like some wild animal is sinking its teeth deep into Olivia's flesh, ripping apart muscle and sinew. She had come to realize she can't. She can't imagine it, she can't _remember_ it. The pain is within her, has seeped into her bones, into her being, into the very essence of her. The realization had crashed into her so forcefully that she had stopped breathing for what had felt like an impossibly long amount of time. Until she had buried her face into her fluffy pillow and screamed. Screamed for her life, screamed until her throat had been sore and her lungs had eventually given out.

Pain. It's all that she is made of anymore, the only thing she knows.

Olivia had cried then, sobbed and hiccuped like a distraught toddler, unable to self-soothe. For hours. On and off, pretty much caught between a state of numb and so emotional that it had sent her into a spiral of weighing if she wouldn't have been better off if she had died on the table when they had cut into her and separated her past from the present.

It seems like a cruel joke that she is still alive yet unable to live a full life. A normal life. At 49 years old she is completely useless to anything or anyone. She can't walk more than two, three steps without her crutch. She has tried, of course. Countless times. Now she no longer does because there's only so many times that she can take her leg giving out and her landing flat on her ass. She won't ever work again. She won't have a relationship again, won't have sex again, won't… live ever again. Being alive doesn't equal living at all.

Lately she perceives motherhood as a burden. Of course Olivia loves her child. She loves that boy more than life but it's so, so hard and more and more often she finds herself thinking that if it wouldn't be for Noah, she wouldn't need to get up or leave the house or function or be nice when she really doesn't feel like it at all. And truthfully, her boy would be so much better off without her.

Olivia's patience is wearing too thin too often and the moments of joy are few and far in between at this point. When she watches Noah sleep she no longer whispers to him how much he is loved but how sorry she is that he is stuck with her.

…

The night after is the night Olivia first crawls into the comfort of a bottle of Whisky. She cradles it like a baby in need of warmth and protection when it's exactly what she expects from the chosen vice. She gets woozy quickly because the pills are in her system as well but for a bit she feels okay-ish. Not like if she still had her gun she'd consider eating it.

The thought hadn't even scared her too much. It had been strange. Very strange. She had imagined the weight of her Glock in her hand, held at a very unnatural angle as it pointed towards her, not away from her. Just for a moment she had allowed her mind to go there.

Swallowing thickly she had remembered how her entire body had flinched when Lewis had made her pull the trigger on herself during a game of Russian Roulette. Six chambers. One bullet.

_Click._

Clearly she isn't going to kill herself. Not that she's a coward but it's not something she would ever do to her son. No person should live wondering why they hadn't mattered enough for their loved one to choose life. She's not someone who's going to commit suicide. It had been nothing but a fleeting thought. Very fleeting. Just a second, really. Hardly worth dwelling upon.

It's probably the lack of sleep Olivia tells herself as she takes another sip from the bottle. Or the pain that threatens to drive her insane.

Shakily she clutches the bottle against her chest, hugs it and pulls up her legs, the right one bends without difficulty but the left one acts like a petulant child and whispers fuck you as it tremors violently.

„Fuck you, too," she mutters and closes her eyes, resting her head against the head board of the bed.

In the confines of her mind she thinks she misses Elliot. Thinks that maybe she should call him. But she is not entirely sure. It's a peculiar and scary thing to feel like she wants him here, if only to fill the silence in ways netflix shows or infomercials can't. And if they won't fill the silence with meaningless words, because neither of them does heavy conversation very well, then there's still his presence at least. She thinks that might be a distraction.

No, I am not looking for companionship, she tells herself. That is not it at all. It's just that she thinks he might be able to understand some of it without her needing to say a word. It had worked in the past, the whole getting each other without talking thing.

So she dials, still cradling the bottle like her life depends on it and when he answers it sounds like he has never been as relieved as in this moment.

„Liv, thank God," he rasps. And just like that she really doesn't know what to say. She isn't sorry for not keeping her word and calling within a few days. Jesus, he had walked away from her and not come back for six years. Three weeks really aren't a big deal. Silence rules between them and he allows it for a long time before he asks: „Are you okay?"

„Fine," she says monotonously. It's an automatism, really. „A bit drunk."

‚Testing him, aren'tcha`. That's what she thinks. A bit drunk when she really shouldn't drink and she bets he knows it.

He knows better than to go off on her like a shook can of coke it seems. „What are ya having?"

„Whisky," she breathes, holding on to the bottle a little tighter, as if it's a security blanket, a dear friend.

„Whisky's good."

„Yeah." When her eyes close she almost feels a moment of inner calm. „Would you-," her voice cracks because she is not good at asking for something even if she goes the route of not specifically asking at all. „Would you like some?"

No doubt does he know what this is. An olive branch, a chance to begin again. A plea for company when she'd never freely admit that she needs something. Someone. And she is so grateful when he replies without sounding too eager.

„Would you even share?"

„Maybe. As you said, it's a good Whisky." She smiles half a smile in the semi-dark of the room. The moon is almost full and unusually radiant tonight, illuminating the room enough for Olivia to make out every piece of furniture and decorative item.

„I'll be over," he finally says. Olivia realizes she has never had any real doubt about it at all. She had known he'd come even though she couldn't quite grasp why. It has always been this way. Maybe some things truly never change.

„Okay," she breathes into the room.

….

**End Notes: Well, this is the moment I'm going to ask you to leave a review or personal message. Any thoughts? **


	7. Ready For Combat

Although Elliot is now only a ten minute drive away from Olivia's apartment, he still can't quite believe that he is en route to her. After almost four weeks had passed without a sign from her, he had almost given up hoping for… anything. Now, stuck at a red traffic light, he keeps thinking about how to best approach her. There is little that Elliot knows. He has no idea why it has taken her so long to call him or if it means that she is fully inviting him back into her life. There is no telling where it may lead. And he shouldn't question it. All he can do at this point is take it one day at a time.

What he does know is that it will take everything within him to keep calm when he sees her. She is drinking. Probably right this second his friend who is dependent on strong pain medication is indulging in whisky - something she clearly shouldn't. But he can't bring that up or else he'll be out of that apartment faster than he got dressed when Liv invited him over.

As much as he hates it, at least he will be able to control the situation somewhat. Or so he hopes. If she should show any signs of strong intoxication he'll damn well try to convince her to stop. He's not quite sure how yet, but his hands won't be fully tied. Also Olivia has always been quite compliant when drunk - more so than in a sober and clear state of mind. So the cards he's been dealt aren't the worst. At least one thing might work in his favor.

With his thumb drumming against the steering wheel he thanks whoever might listen. Olivia has called and it seems like a sign from God or the universe. This is one more chance to get things right. No more fuck-ups. No transgressions, no hiding in plain sight, no punishing her with silence when they disagree. For once Elliot decides he will be there for Olivia in the way he thinks she needs him.

The traffic light switches from red to orange to green and Elliot hits the gas pedal.

In the past few weeks he had read up on Olivia's condition - if a condition is what he wants to call it. Elliot even contacted one of his fellow ex-marines who used to work as a Doctor at the time. Quite honestly, he had been hoping for a shred of good news. Some sort of ray of light at the end of the tunnel, options no-one had yet considered - maybe new or experimental treatments that sound promising. But apparently there is no such thing when a major part of muscle has been removed. Olivia had said it to him a few times. That it is all hopeless. That she can't be helped. It is not fixable in ways that will make her life and mobility what it used to be before the infection.

Where the hell are miracles when they are so desperately needed? He'd been wondering a lot about it lately. He prays for Olivia every night, pleading with God to give Liv strength, to spare her pain, although it might not be in God's hands at all. But if Elliot doesn't have that, then he might as well give up hope entirely. He is not willing to do that. So he keeps praying and puts all of his faith in God and Jesus because he's desperately trying to hold on to something for Olivia. Someone has to bargain for her future after all.

…

It takes a long while until the door buzzes after he has rung the intercom. It is not easy to not get overly impatient with fear that she might not be well after the whisky and all. But Elliot grounds himself enough by the time he can finally push the door open. He takes the elevator; it's faster. And getting to Olivia as fast as he possibly can is a priority.

When Elliot sees her however he wishes he would have had more time, a second to prepare himself for Olivia looking like she does. It's not her attire, sweatpants and a simple Levis t-shirt. It's the dark circles underneath her eyes. Hollow, sad eyes. Ashen skin. And while Elliot had not thought it was possible for her to get even thinner than she had been when he had last seen her weeks ago, he'd clearly been wrong. Those cheekbones are more prominent than ever, her collarbone pokes out in almost offensively. When Elliot had first met her all those years ago she had been thin - the healthy kind of thin. Now she is hardly more than skin and bone.

_Does she eat at all? Is anybody making sure she is fed and hydrated on a basic level? _

This, he realizes, can't be healthy.

_But you can't say anything. You can't blurt out that she looks horribly unhealthy and needs to eat or else things will come to blow. _

He curses Fin and the blonde and whoever else used to work with Liv or dares to call themselves her friend. Where the hell are they in all of this? How do they let it get this far?

Olivia leans against the door and not even the hint of a smile is on her face. The muscles of her face seem tight, the frown wrinkle between her eyebrows is more prominent than Elliot has ever seen it on her.

„You wanna…" Olivia gestures inside her apartment, inviting him in before either of them has muttered a single word in greeting. Probably it's not necessary.

„Yeah," he says. His voice sounds foreign and tight. It's a struggle to speak at all. Walking however, that works. So he takes a few steps and when he walks inside her apartment Olivia hobbles to the right to make space for him. By the time she closes the door, locking them in between those walls she lives in, Elliot still fumbles for words.

_How are you? _Well, how's she supposed to be?

_You look good. _Most blatant lie of all lies. Also a lie she'd catch him in. No good.

_So how much did you have to drink so far? _By far the most interesting question but a guarantee to be kicked out of here faster than he can spell whisky.

„It's good to see you." That should do. It's safe, it's true, and most likely it is not going to send Olivia into a downward spiral of defensiveness and anger. Elliot takes her in, focuses even more closely as Olivia moves further into her living room with her crutch. She seems fine in terms of intoxication which makes Elliot release a breath of silent relief.

„Hey," she says back. It's noncommittal and he wishes she'd give him more, throw him a bone. Then he reminds himself he is _here_ and that's not just a bone, it's a goddamn skeleton. Everything is quiet and when he is completely helpless he attempts a smile to break the ice.

„I'm glad you called." It feels like a dance when he doesn't know the steps, yet Elliot knows he has got to move. Do something. Say something.

„Okay." It's not much, but did he really expect more? She is talking to him. He is at her place. That's reason for him to be faintly optimistic, isn't it? Maybe Olivia feels like she's under the microscope. The current situation they are in is his fault after all. It could be easier, less complicated. Olivia's trust in him is probably a very fickle thing at this point. So he decides to give it time, to accept all the things she says and especially those she doesn't say. For long moments he simply scans her face and eventually sees it relax.

_That's better._

They face each other and Olivia is standing perfectly still, body curled towards her left, a sight he has by now learned is one more new normal.

„Olivia," he tries, and yet he has no idea what he wants to say, what he should say. He is concerned and when he takes one step towards her he can see her frail body flinch with his sudden approach. Instantly he stops, like he's been burned.

…

„Do you want a drink?" Olivia's voice sounds hasty. She can't do this. Won't do this. Tonight she isn't looking for softness and understanding, not the kind he was going to direct at her just now. Of course she can see it in his eyes. The shock, the concern. She is not an idiot after all. But she wants none of it.

_Please don't handle me like everyone else. Take off the kids gloves. I know I am broken but I still want you to see _**_me._**

„Yeah. A drink sounds good." He wipes his mouth, his insecurity blatant.

Before she sets her body into motion Olivia gestures towards the couch, inviting him to sit. The Whisky is still in the bedroom, on her bed, warmed by the covers. When she returns and puts the bottle down on the coffee table she can see Elliot twitch, his eyes pained and insecure. It's oddly comforting that she can still read him like this. She keeps moving around slowly, makes it to her kitchen and back with two tumblers.

„Do you want ice?"

„No." The answer is fast as a bullet, it is clear to her that he has a hard time seeing her struggle with the crutch. She's surprised he hasn't offered his help. It must take a lot for him to keep his mouth shut and let her do things by herself. Tentatively she smiles and sits down, leaving some space between their bodies on the sofa.

„Would you?" She glances at the bottle without further elaboration.

„Yes, sure." He pours them each a drink, downs his before she has even contemplated taking a sip. Apparently he's nervous.

„Better?"

Elliot nods but doesn't say anything. He revels in the warm feeling the alcohol offers when everything about Olivia makes him shiver. How many times have they sat together like this, some sort of elephant in the room between them, nursing a drink?

_Too many times. _And yet this is so, so different. Olivia is more vulnerable than ever before. He… is more scared than ever before.

When he sees Olivia take a sip from her drink everything within his abdomen tightens painfully. _She shouldn't, she shouldn't, she shouldn't_ it echoes in his head.

„Don't look at me like that, Elliot," she scolds, her voice a quiet grumble.

„I'm not." _Like hell I'm not. _His protest is weak and neither of them buys it.

„Right."

„Liv…"

„Elliot, don't do this. I'm a big girl." She sighs, glances away, drags her eyes back towards him then. „I shouldn't drink." There it is, she said it.

He is wise enough not to verbally agree with her, instead he swallows the lump in his throat.

„Don't tell me you wouldn't drink."

He would. She got him there. Of course he would. When there's little more to lose then what's the point? And still he doesn't want it for her.

„I would."

Olivia, intrigued, arches an eyebrow.

„But?"

„No but," he breathes. „Look Liv, I don't know what to say here." He might as well be honest and hope it's not going to upset her. „I'm not going to tell you not to." That's one thing he knows better.

She sighs and nods and stares into her glass of enticing, golden whisky. He cares for her. He is trying to look out for her. She knows this. With trembling hands she looks at him again as he keeps talking.

„I don't know what I am allowed to say. I am worried." There it is. „I worry about you because no, you shouldn't drink. And I don't get to tell you that. But do I get to say that I'm worried?"

Does he get to say he is worried? Olivia draws a deep breath. Then another.

„Yeah. You get to say that." He glances at her and almost seems shocked at her words. She's called him. She wanted company, his company in particular. And while there's a part of her that doesn't want to admit it she knows why. After all this time Olivia would like to fix things. They may not be fixable, some things break beyond repair. But if she's going to try she at least is going to do it right. So she goes ahead and offers.

„It helps with the pain." Her eyes drift away as the words fall between them. „With the insomnia, too," she adds just above a whisper.

Elliot nods. _Of course it does. _He knows it numbs pain. Emotional pain, physical pain. He's been there and done that. So this he can relate to. Which doesn't necessarily make it easier to witness but it's a lot easier to understand. He can't possibly fault her for trying to be in less pain. And yet, knowing it's Olivia who self-medicates with alcohol, chokes him up.

„Did you have much to drink?" Hard as it may be Elliot keeps any accusation out of his tone. He just wants to know the bare facts.

„Not too much, no." Her answer isn't measurable at all. What is not too much? What is too much? In her case even one drink is too much, isn't it? But he won't say that, won't question her. Instead Elliot tries to go by what he sees with his own eyes rather than her answer.

Number one: Olivia's speech exhibits no slur. It should be noted that she talks to him at all. That's a huge step forward from the total radio silence of the past weeks.

Number two: She walked around and managed the crutch without stumbling or falling.

Number three: Her eyes are sad and hollow but they are not glassy with intoxication. He knows Olivia's drunk eyes. What he sees is not it.

Number four: She's not holding her head in her hands and muttering curses underneath her breath. Which is the stage after being overly chatty yet before getting all choked up and emotional. Which comes down to one thing: Elliot has seen Olivia in every possible stage of inebriation. The good and the ugly. So he can judge her current state. At the very most she is slightly tipsy.

With one important question down there's one left to ask. _How much do you intent do drink? _But he's not going to go there. He is aware that this particular question might just drive Liv over the edge.

„You feel okay?"

„I feel okay." Her voice trembles. The leg tremors. She sounds anything but okay but he can't give her the stop-shitting-me attitude. For once he goes along with her narrative.

Although Elliot's throat is dry and her drinking goes against anything he would advise her to do while she is dependent on strong medication there is one thing that keeps him somewhat grounded. Olivia has called him. She wants him here. And even in the silence there must be a message in that. He tries to listen to that message when he sees her sipping her whisky. He is looking at her intently as she does and she seems to falter under the intensity of his gaze. Guilt is souring his throat and he looks elsewhere. There's so little she can control these days, he should let her control this. Her drink, her alcohol intake, her own limit.

…

„How are things going?"

When Olivia looks at him his gaze is serious. She knows what he is really asking.

_How are you? _

_Do you go to therapy? _

_How's the leg? _

_How do you manage? _

The answer to all of these questions is a simple _no. _There is nothing she is going to say, nothing she wants to say. Olivia is so, so tired of hearing the same questions all over again. They are all guilty of it. Amanda, Fin, Carisi, Melinda… even Barba on their short phone conversations. She hates it.

„Fine."

Of course that is her answer. With Olivia everything is always fine, especially when things are most definitely not fine. No surprise there. His ex-partner is cradling the drink in her hands and it's oddly comforting that she hasn't drained it yet. He himself pours himself a second drink, he's in desperate need of doing something with his hands. All of the thoughts in his head drive him sheer crazy. It seems they aren't going to have much of a conversation tonight. It's hard for Elliot to accept because he misses her in more ways than being physically in the same room makes up for.

„This place is nice." Since they are obviously not talking about the important things smalltalk might be acceptable. He still wonders how she affords this two bedroom Upper Westside apartment with her salary. When he sees her expression however he wonders where he went wrong. Her face goes dark right in front of him, she seems to shrink, all of a sudden even more fragile than moments before. „Liv?"

She worries her bottom lip and eventually sips her whisky and closes her eyes. It hardly takes the edge off. The anxiety spreads within her, makes her heart race to the point she gets all warm and tingly and it gets hard to breathe.

„I need to move out." Her statement is matter-of-fact but her voice is shaky and quiet. She probably should have moved out weeks ago but she hadn't really made an effort in terms of looking for something smaller and less pricey in rent.

He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Olivia looks oddly guilt-stricken and fearful. Of course. He should have thought this through first. She won't be able to afford a place like this with her pension. Nothing even close to this. Who wouldn't be scared shitless?

„Do you have something in prospect?"

She sighs and tips her head back. This is not the kind of conversation she wants to have, yet she shakes her head.

„I haven't looked yet," she whispers, unprepared for the feeling of shame that coils around her insides at the admission. She feels like crying but like hell is she going to fall apart now. She takes another drink, willing her emotions to stop choking her up.

When Olivia falls quiet again and pensively looks into her glass it breaks Elliot's heart. He wants to offer his help but isn't sure if it's what she wants, if she'd even accept it. He moves to reach for her arm but stops mid-motion. This entire situation is a minefield if there ever was one.

„Just get it over with, El," she mutters eventually, looking at him like she's daring him.

„Get it over with?"

„You've got something to say, say it. Ask me if there's something you can-," she shakes her head as her voice cracks. Angry with herself she empties her tumbler. „something you can do." She sounds small and out of breath and she hates herself for it.

„Can I pour you another drink?" It gives her a pause and she gauges if he's being serious or sarcastic. Blue sympathetic eyes meet brown ones. It takes a few seconds for her to decide he's not trying to patronize her and she holds her glass out to him for a refill.

Olivia's hands tremble and it's worrisome on so many levels. But he pours that drink he has tempted her with and watches her take an instant sip.

„It's okay to be scared, Liv."

She scoffs and closes her eyes. She can't deal with this. She won't deal with this.

„Shut up Elliot."

_You don't know the first thing about what this kind of fear feels like. _

Her entire life? It's unhinged. Any financial security she has once known will soon be a thing of the past. It's a matter of time and he knows it. She's beyond scared. She's frozen, unable to pick up the newspaper and look for a place that reads something like ‚charming one-bedroom apartment in an up and coming neighborhood' which translates to rundown rathole in deprived area.

Although it goes against his nature he does. For now he does. He's walking a fine line with her. When he studies her he sees her jaw working, chin quivering ever so slightly. She has a death-grip on the tumbler in her hand, her boney knuckles white.

When she angrily wipes at a tear Elliot winces audibly. He hates this helplessness he feels. There's nothing he can do or say that won't upset Olivia further. There's her struggle for control playing like a dramatic movie right before him and his internalized fear of losing Olivia for good if he so much as makes one wrong move.

„Fuck-," she says acidly and scoots forward on the couch. There's a physical struggle and with difficulty she manages to get up, drink still in hand.

„Liv," he tries. He can't watch this, wants to help, but when he touches her arm to help her she acts as if she's been burned.

„Don't touch me!" She's up then and lurches forward with the crutch, away from him, in need of space. The limp is worse than it usually is and by the time she reaches the breakfast bar he realizes why. Her left leg spasms violently. She cries quietly.

„Jesus, Liv just…" He's had it and he's annoyed. Not with her but with himself, with the cards he's dealt. There is no right thing for him to do. It might be reckless but he gets up and walks closer slowly, tentatively.

She is hiding away from him, stubbornly facing anything but him. She doesn't want him to see her like this. Not again. Not _ever_ again. In her head she tries to gauge if she's going to make it to her bedroom. The bedroom is a safe space. There's a door to close, a barrier.

By the time she has made up her mind the decision is no longer hers to make. Her left leg tremors and her muscles give out under the assault of the sharp pain. She's gripping the lip of the breakfast bar, barely hanging on. When she goes down strong arms wrap around her, catching her just in time. It's the most demeaning experience she has ever made, which only makes her come more undone.

_God, she can't weigh much more than a child_ is what comes to mind first. He has carried her before, has felt her weight against him before and he remembers clearly that is was nothing like this.

„It's okay. I've got you," Elliot mutters against her hair as she struggles for control and dignity alike. Her right leg tries to find balance on the floor as she lets go of the crutch that hits the ground with a thud.

It's not okay. It's not at all okay, she thinks as she sobs. The tremors only get worse so Olivia stops her struggle against her chosen enemy. The pain borders on unbearable despite her alcohol consumption and for the moment the only thing she can think is _I wanna die. _

Elliot lowers them both to the ground, slowly. It takes a moment but he manages to get Olivia into a sitting position in front of him, her back against his chest. There is crying and then there is what he hears from Olivia. He's holding her, pulling her torso close to him when she threatens to tilt forward. Her fragility frightens him. More than that the sounds she makes shake him to the core, so much so that he can't stop his eyes from tearing up. Against him she is fighting for air in between sobs and groans and he has never in his entire life felt so utterly useless. Her shirt feels damp against his hand with cold sweat as her stomach contracts beneath him. She's retching now and _Dear God, please, please make it stop_, he thinks.

Holding Kathy's hand while she was giving birth to Kathleen was a walk in the park compared to this. At least at the end of that pain there was a healthy baby. This? This is pointless. This will never make any sense to him. Elliot wouldn't wish this sort of cruelty to his worst enemy.

The train of thought is being interrupted by Olivia throwing up all over herself and extension over Elliot's arms.

When he speaks his voice is purposefully soothing.

„That's okay. Get it all out." He assumes this is the comeuppance for mixing her pills with whisky. She cries and vomits and he holds her through it, smoothing her hair back as best as he can. Olivia's forehead is cold and sweaty. When the puking stops and Olivia is merely trembling and sobbing in his arm he rubs her arm. She may have stopped throwing up but otherwise he isn't sure where they stand.

„Do you still hurt?"

She nods her head and manages a shaky, staccato word. „L-leg."

Although she can't see it he nods. He has no idea what to do and her crying out doesn't help.

„It h-hu-hurts."

„I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he mutters against her hair, thinking how the one thing he can do is hold her.

When it's over he feels it. The transition is palpable. Olivia's muscles relax, she melts against him, the sobs stop and all that's left is her heavy breathing.

„I'm… sorry," she mumbles, horrified over what has just transpired. If she had any strength left at all she'd use it to run. Fast. At least then she wouldn't have to face Elliot after her complete disaggregation.

„Alright," he mutters. „Shhh. It's okay. It's okay, Liv."

He can feel her shrinking in his arms and it's only seconds until she starts to cry again but this time it's completely different. It's shame and embarrassment.

„It's okay, honey. Just calm down. We'll take it easy," he murmurs into her ear. „We'll get you cleaned up. Okay?"

It takes a little while but eventually she nods and that is more than Elliot could have hoped for. They take their time before he helps her up and to the bathroom. Olivia sits down on the closed lid of the toilet while Elliot goes through her drawers, gathering a fresh set of comfortable clothes. Under different circumstances going through his ex-partner's underwear drawer would be peculiar, probably even unsettling. Right now however he doesn't even think about it and runs on autopilot. When he returns Olivia is still a picture of misery and it's heartbreaking.

He puts her clothes on the cabinet and swallows hard. „I'll give you some privacy," he decides.

„Okay," she whispers.

„If you need anything…"

She swallows and casts her eyes downwards and Elliot knows even if she needed his help she wouldn't dare ask for it right now. So he retreats and quietly closes the door behind him, leaving Olivia alone, deciding to clean up while she takes a shower.

…

End Notes: It has taken a while and it wasn't easy to write. I've decided to end it there because it felt quite natural. Your thoughts are (as always) highly appreciated.


	8. Cruelty

**Notes: Thank you guys for the wonderful response to Chapter 7. It is, in some places, incredibly hard and painful to write. Quite a bit of an emotional rollercoaster. And it's going to stay this way for quite a bit until there's light at the end of the tunnel. So prepare for more angst. **

**...**

He paces. After cleaning up the floor and himself, he's only wearing his undershirt now, he paces and glances at his watch every few seconds as if the hand has miraculously made a jump on the face. It's been fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes of tiptoeing back and forth between her living room and open kitchen and the bedroom that is adjacent to the bathroom. The very bathroom Olivia is in. Alone. Every other minute he listen at the door physically separating Olivia and him from being in the same space. Twenty minutes. Still silence. Dreadful silence that makes his hands twitch with the need to knock on that door, or, even better, just walk back in there and see for himself if his ex-partner is alright.

The very moment he has made up his mind and decided it's been enough he hears the quiet hiss of the shower, the steady drum of water hitting the tub. Relieved he drops his palm and forehead against the cool door and closes his eyes. _Thank God._

For a few moments he remains in his spot, willing his nerves to calm. Elliot himself is running on adrenaline still. While he had seen her experiencing cramps before what he had witnessed today had been on a whole different level. Anguished by pain that made her cry out and groan like he could have only imagined to hear from a wounded animal she had been defeated. Crumbling in his very arms as she succumbed to him holding her, her body but more than that her spirit had caved in. Elliot can't even count it as some sort of victory or progress. Olivia has had no choice whatsoever. That body of hers that she should have control over is now controlling her. Olivia couldn't have fought him off, fought her fate if she had tried.

This realization is crippling.

_She is not fine. She is not fine at all, she's not okay and she might just never be again and I can't…_

Releasing a shaky breath drenched in a sob he moves away from that door. He can't. He can't deal with this and yet he has to. Liv isn't given a choice. Well, he isn't either.

_Pull yourself together, Stabler._

Roughly he rubs his hands across his face, the hint of a stubble prickling against his palms. He needs to get a grip. _Distract yourself._ Elliot draws a few deep breaths then heads out of the bedroom. Hydration, he thinks. Hydration is important since Olivia had emptied her stomach. Which couldn't have been full to begin with because the only thing she had brought up were fluids. The combination of pills, whisky and bile had made for a terrible stench that still lingers in the living room and kitchen area.

He sifts her kitchen cabinets and drawers until he finds different boxes of tea and coffee powder. Keeping busy is good, it helps. Elliot starts the coffee machine for himself and makes a pot of camomile tea for Liv. He finds her fridge mostly empty. There are a few items in there that he is sure are for Noah only. Milk, jelly, lunchmeat, cheese strings, a small selection of fresh vegetables. Worrying his bottom lip he checks the freezer. It's emptybar two boxes of mini pizzas. None of this seems suitable for Olivia to eat right now, if he'll even get her to eat. Once more he tackles the cabinets and finds a box of oatmeal. Not exactly what he had mind but it will have to do. Elliot works quickly and fixes a small serving of porridge for Olivia. She needs to get something into her stomach. At this point Elliot will be pleased if she eats a few spoonfuls. Everything is better than total refusal.

Realistically Elliot knows that she won't eat a proper amount of food, any food, within the next few days. Clearly she has barely eaten lately, which had already been a problem when Elliot had last seen her four weeks ago. As much as he wants her to put on at least some of that lost weight he knows maintaining her current weight has to be a priority. That's where he has to start. Small steps. Baby steps.

_I can do this._

Patience. It's not exactly something he's overly capable of. In fact everyone would attest to Elliot Stabler being impatience personified.

But this, he has to remember, this is different. If any situation ever afforded patience and understanding it's this. And Olivia isn't trying to be overly defiant and difficult. None of this is her fault. She hasn't asked for this and she is struggling. So he won't be an asshole and will just have to learn to steel his patience and be extra sympathetic even in moments he'd rather yell and shake some sense into her.

The porridge simmers on the stove, audibly bubbling away. A brown-spotted banana catches Elliot's eye. He remembers that she had eaten one on one of his previous visits so he grabs it and mashes it with a fork like he used to for his kids when they were still babies and adds the puree to the porridge all the while steeling himself that Liv might not eat anything.

He pours a cup of steaming chamomile tea to cool off and put the porridge in a bowl, placing both on the coffee table in the living room. Once more he consults the clock. A good fifteen minutes have passed by since. Now unoccupied Elliot holds out for another three, four minutes.

_Fuck this._

Once more his impatience gets the better of him and Elliot makes his way to the bathroom door. Once again he listens. The shower is still on which instantly causes the former detective's stomach to tighten with an ominous gut feeling. Still he waits a few beats before he softly knocks on the door.

„Liv?"

He listens closely. No answer. Nothing. Just the sound of the running water.

„Olivia, are you alright?"

Elliot's stomach plummets.

„Liv." He knocks again, more urgently this time. His voice is more forceful now. „Listen, I'm coming in now, okay?"

_You better did not lock that door_, it crosses his mind as he's turning the doorknob. The door springs open. The shower curtain is drawn around the tub, shielding Olivia from his view.

„Liv," he tries attentively. His eyes scan his surroundings. The fresh set of clothes he had gotten for is still folded on the counter. When she doesn't answer after a brief pause Elliot swallows thickly. He's done with waiting and showing he can be patient.

„Liv," he says again and steps closer to the tub. When he pulls the curtain back a little he sees her huddled frame sitting in the bathtub, one leg bent, the left one outstretched. Her eyes are closed, squeezed shut and Elliot doesn't have to feel the water to know it's not warm.

„Olivia," he winces. He is facing her back and reaches across her frail body to turn off the faucet.

He spots the folded white towel on the edge of the tub and unfolds it, draping it around her shoulders while trying to give her as much privacy as possible, pretending not to see his naked, shivering ex-partner.

„Let's get you out of here," he murmurs.

„I can't," she finally. „-right now," she adds as an afterthought. Her voice is thin, strained.

At least she's talking to him. That's good.

„Another cramp?"

She merely nods, then breathes shakily and hums like he only has heard from women having contractions during childbirth.

_What the hell is this? Can't she get a fucking break?_

As Elliot's eyes rake over Olivia they settle on her left lower leg, on the thick scar tissue coiling around what once was an intact calf. He has only ever seen this part of her body either bandaged or pant-clad. As a marine he has seen a lot. In fact he has seen worse in both his military as well as police career. And yet this hits different. It hits worse because this is Olivia.

Again the sense of helplessness eats away at Elliot. There is nothing he can do so he sits on the edge of the tub behind her, trying not to crowd her or give her the feeling like she's on display. She's in a vulnerable position, as vulnerable as it gets, scared, cold, hurting, bar naked.

When she relaxes he is by her side.

„Do you need help?"

He can't see her face but he knows there must be a struggle playing out on her face as she nods hesitantly. He offers her another towel to cover the front of her body. The last thing he wants is for her to feel like her nakedness is on display.

„Thank you," she whispers. He helps her out of the tub and Olivia steadies herself against Elliot's side, clutching her right hand holding the towel to her chest. When part of the fabric slips out of position he wordlessly helps to get it back in place until they reach the toilet.

„Okay?"

„Yes," she says quietly.

„You must be cold," Elliot voices matter-of-fact.

As if on cue she starts trembling. Her hair is wet, her skin cold to the touch. The t-shirt he has picked out earlier won't do.

„I know you're fine," he adds before she can say anything and sure enough she casts the smallest smile at him.

„I'm a little cold," Olivia gives.

„I thought so. I'll get you a sweater if that's alright?"

The brunette nods and Elliot is sure it's the best excuse he can give her other than blatantly stating he'll give her some privacy to towel off and get dressed. Quietly he retreats and closes the door on his way out.

Elliot gives her plenty of time before he knocks on the door again to bring her the crutch. Her hair falling around her shoulders in messy waves is still wet, although no longer dripping. When he offers her a gray NYPD hoodie, the exact same model he owns as well, she slips it on. It looks about two sizes to large on her and it's a small size. For a moment they are both quiet. Elliot can feel Olivia is avoiding to look at him. It's a peculiar situation. After long moments she finally does speak up.

„I'm sorry for throwing up on you." El's discarded sweatshirt is stained with her sickness as much as her own clothes are. This, she thinks, is the most humiliating part of it all. Vomiting all over Elliot Stabler's sleeves. He hardly looked less stained than her by the time he had half walked, half carried her to the bathroom.

„Don't even worry about it." She takes the crutch he proffers and gets up, swaying a little. Elliot instantly grabs her by the arm, gently, and guides her.

„Do you feel okay?"

„A little woozy," she admits, and he's glad that she doesn't palm him up with another round of _I'm fine._

„I made you some tea." For now he leaves out that there's also a bowl of warm porridge waiting for her. „You need fluids."

Olivia thinks that this makes sense. She hasn't drunk much throughout the day, alcohol aside. She sits when they reach the sofa. She isn't feeling good so she doesn't even try to fight when Elliot helps her with the tea, making sure she's taking a few sips of the warm beverage. She's slow and tired, feels queasy and her leg hurts. The expression on Elliot's face is one of worry. She has seen it many times before.

„Is it always this bad?" He sounds nothing like himself. Olivia doesn't quite know how to be honest about it because it's getting worse for sure.

„Sometimes," she says instead. With her shaky hands she almost spills the tea until Elliot steadies her.

„Drink some more," he tells her and even she knows that right now she can't argue with him. Olivia isn't sure she's not going to pass out. It might be pure exhaustion. Or it might be her body's reaction to the pills and whisky. Whatever the reason, it is not her brightest hour.

„I think I'm going to be sick again," she manages and puts the back of her hand to her mouth.

„Okay." Quickly Elliot weighs his options. He could help her back to the bathroom. Or he could go and get her a bucket or bigger bowl. It's decided when she dry-heaves and he sprints to the kitchen cabinet to get a deep dish.

She throws up what is left in her stomach, which isn't much. Elliot gives her a paper towel, let's her clean up her mouth as best as she can.

„Sorry-," she breathes.

„Liv, if this goes on and you can't keep the tea down I'll have to take you to the ER," Elliot tells her calmly but also with seriousness. The vomiting scares the shit out of him because it sure as hell isn't pain-related this time around. She surprises him when she nods slowly and rests her head back, closing her eyes.

„You can't sleep, either."

„I know," she mutters.

„How much did you have to drink before I got here?"

„I… I don't know. A glass or two," she estimates roughly. She had indulged in the whisky straight from the bottle.

„So around four?" _Jesus fucking Christ, you call that ‚not too much'? _The irrational, worried, scared-out-of-his-mind side of him wants to throttle her. The guilty side however thinks he should rather be furious with himself because he had let her, hadn't he? He had sat right here on this very sofa pouring her two of those drinks. He had done half the damage.

„Yeah," she breathes out, still hugging the plastic dish, just in case.

Elliot wipes his mouth, trying to think. Liv has mixed her meds with high-proof alcohol. That's bad. But she has thrown up twice, she's getting it out of her system which he is pretty sure is helpful in this situation. Plus she is responsive. What's not good is that Olivia is clearly in poor physical shape.

He does _not_ want to drag her to ER and risk that someone is going to accuse Olivia Benson of reckless endangerment of a child for pulling a stunt like this with her son in the same vicinity. These things can get ugly quickly, they have seen it one too many times. CPS is the very last thing Olivia should have to deal with on top of everything else.

_Okay. Okay… we're going to handle this._

„How do you feel?" While she is pale she is not sweating. She doesn't seem to have a fever, either.

„Like shit," she says around a humorless chuckle.

„Can you look at me?"

She swallows and sits up a little straighter, opening her eyes.

„Good. Now listen, I want you to stay hydrated, okay? Small sips."

„I think it's going to come right back out," she mutters.

„I don't care," he says sharply.

…

Olivia hadn't been kidding. She hadn't managed to keep three rounds of tea down for longer than five minutes. It's pretty much been half a cup of tea in, half a cup of tea right back out. The next half cup however finally stays down and Elliot, exhaustedly, allows himself to relax just a little at it. Olivia looks like hell, her hair frizzy and still partially moist on the back of her head, her face pale, her body exhausted.

„Feeling better?"

„A little."

That's progress. He leans back but turns his head so he can still look at her, just to be safe. Just for his own peace of mind.

„This was…," he starts but stops himself mid-sentence. This is not the time to lecture her.

„I know," she whispers, turning her head to face him. When her tired eyes connect with his she looks guilt-stricken. „I'm sorry."

He stares back at her and allows the silence to swell. This was so unbelievably stupid, reckless, dumb…

When he feels her boney fingers touch the back of his hand he closes his eyes, his emotions threatening to get the better of him.

„I'm sorry," she repeats hoarsely.

„You can't do this," Elliot pleads.

„I know."

„You have a child."

„I know."

„Then why…?"

He sees her tear up as she shrugs and he knows that if she could she'd probably make a quick exit right about now. She feels warm with humiliation and fear of judgement.

„I just want it stop," she chokes up, starting to helplessly dab at her eyes.

„Okay," he soothes and scoots closer towards her, gently pulling her against his chest. „Tell me…"

She shakes her head, her breath coming faster when she starts crying once more, which only makes her feel weaker, more pathetic.

„Liv," he murmurs against her forehead, stroking her back, trying to encourage her. „It's okay."

Under his sweet attention and whispered words she cracks.

„It just hu-hurts so much, El. Every-thing hurts and I c-can't…" It's his touch that makes her come undone, so soft, so gentle, so very different from the offensive bite of constant pain she feel sunup to sundown to sunup. There is no such thing as better or worse anymore it's worse and worst.

It knocks the wind out of his lungs when she sobs against him and there is nothing, nothing at all that he can say or do to make anything better for her. And it kills him. It simply kills him slowly, hearing her heart-wrenching cries.

„I can't eat, I can't s-s-sleep, I can… I can't even stand my own child ask-king me for som-mthing because it's s-s-so exhaus-sting. And it-t doesn't stop. It do-doesn't ever stop."

Elliot feels his undershirt get wet with tears and saliva just holding her through it, trying to sooth her, which seems futile.

„I wish I had died," she croaks and her fragile body shudders forcefully against his own.

„No. No, Olivia. Don't say that. Don't even think that," he tells her.

„I wish I'd j-just di-die," she amends, because clearly she did not die pre- or post-op, but here's to hoping.

It leaves Elliot absolutely horrified.

…

**End notes: Yes, we're going for rock bottom here. We might not yet have reached it but we're well on our way. Any thoughts are highly appreciated. Feel free to PM me, leave a review... to all the lovely guest reviewers, sometimes I'd love to reply to you, which I can't. So maybe, if you don't have an account, consider making one? It'll be so much easier to communicate :) **


	9. Angels roll their eyes

It takes hours until Olivia falls asleep. Elliot had convinced her after a long time that she should lie down, in bed preferably. She had cried for a long time and he had been frozen for as long, only more aware of his helplessness. What do you say to a person who speaks the unspeakable? What on earth is there to say?

_I wish I'd just die._

Olivia. Wishes she'd just die. He closes his eyes at the heart wrenching ache he feels within him as these words echo in his head once more. Ever since she had cried them into the quiet of her living room Elliot hears them like a broken record.

_I wish I'd just die. _

Elliot glances at Liv's sleeping form next to him. She is rolled up in a fetal position, one hand balled to a fist close to her mouth. She's taking deep and steady breaths. It is clear to him that physical and emotional exhaustion has wiped her out completely.

It's three-something in the morning and all Elliot can hope for is that she is going to sleep for at least a couple of more hours. Every now and again there's a whimper or a soft groan falling from her slightly parted lips. Every now and again her left foot twitches. Each time he whispers to her that he's right here and hopes she's not going to wake up.

The seconds tick by slowly. Olivia can't have been asleep for much longer than thirty, forty minutes and yet, in this situation, it feels like hours to Elliot. He faces her and she looks so, so small to him, so breakable. And neither is what would have come to mind when he thought of Olivia just months ago. Liv has always been strong, determined, proud. Olivia Benson used to be a force to be reckoned with.

_I wish I'd just die. _

He swallows and fights the tears he feels burning in his vision. And God, he blames himself because he should have seen this coming. He should have been there, been present in those past four weeks because obviously something had happened between then and now. Going against her wishes and words is scary, sure. But what is even more scary is to think that she is wasting away right before him. Losing more and more weight. Not eating. Hardly sleeping. Most likely not going to physical therapy. Refusing help. Saying she wishes she'd just die.

This, Elliot realizes, is not just her having a really bad day. And neither is the fact she has decided to drink. Olivia is either in a place where she no longer knows what else to do or in a place where she is about to give up and no longer cares. Neither is acceptable. Neither is a place she can stay in.

So screw being compliant. He can't be. He can't walk around scared of her, scared she is going to yell at him or tell him to fuck off, that she never wants to see him again. He'll just have to take it. Because letting her continue on like this is not an option. There is no way that Elliot will watch as Olivia self-destroys and gives up. In a way he knows that if she spirals this can be about life and death. Not yet, but he knows from experience how much damage a few months can do when you're caught inside your own head, your own pain. When there's nothing that puts things into perspective unless someone does it for you.

He is absolutely refusing to let it go this far with Olivia. He is going to make sure that she'll start eating again. He'll make sure she won't drink, will make sure she'll go back to therapy and if it means he has to drag her by the healthy leg. She needs help and she should have gotten it long before now. He should have been there for her long before now. What good did it do that he brought her groceries? That was never what she truly needed, he realizes. If he wants to be of true help that means he'll be her enemy half the time. Fine. He's been an asshole for so many years, he can continue on now, can't he? He'll just have to deal. As does she.

It's Friday and he decides to call in sick, take some of all that accumulated overtime because he doesn't think Olivia should be alone right now. With the weekend looming that will give him three days for a start. It's not much but much better than nothing. And he'll just take it from there. He thinks he might be able to work something out at work and take some time off if it should be necessary.

This won't be done with him visiting twice a week. Liv, he realizes, needs assistance. Someone will have to push her and more than that someone will need to be there to catch her when she's in too deep and falls. There is no easy fix, it'll take time and patience. So he'll be there. He'll take this on and he is damned well going to give Fin a piece of his mind because there might be times when he won't be able to do it all on his own.

A whimper and Olivia's body stirring jolts him out of his thoughts. Slowly Elliot's hand lifts and touches her head, stroking his thumb over her soft, wavy hair. She seems so breakable, he thinks. Her eyelids flutter briefly and then she groans softly and stills next to him. His thumb keeps on brushing and he takes her in, drowns in her. Her face isn't nearly as full as he remembers it from six months ago. She's pale. And yet he think she's absolutely beautiful. She'll always be to him.

The thought how much he has missed her for six years hits him once more. It's funny how despite being out of touch he still had felt close to her. But he knows one thing and that is that he won't let something like that happen again. No matter how hard she will try to push him away, he won't go anywhere.

„I'll be right here," he whispers into room, to her, although she can't hear it. „I'll always be by your side." It's a promise. He had once told her for better or worse and he is adamant to keep it.

…

„Mommy…"

Elliot startles awake, realizing he must have dozed off at some point. He remembers the sun coming up before he had closed his eyes. Olivia is still asleep and he sits up to see her four year-old son standing in the door in dinosaur pajamas and questions in his eyes. While Elliot is not a stranger to the boy, he isn't exactly a permanent fixture in his life, either.

„Hey buddy," he says softly and clears his throat a little. He's torn between wanting to let Olivia sleep it off and waking her up for Noah's benefit. The child scrutinizes him shyly, obviously thrown off by what is going on. Elliot figures he's not usually waking up to a man in his mother's bed, it must be confusing.

„Do you remember me? I'm Elliot, your momma's friend?"

The boy nods his head yes. It's been a couple of months since Elliot had last seen him. Noah was either at school or already asleep when he used to be over. They had probably met a handful of times, not quite enough time to bond, Elliot realizes.

„Your mom didn't feel so good," he explained. „So I came over to help. Is that okay?" Briefly Noah's expression darkens then he nods again.

„She's okay now though. Just tired. Do you think we should let her sleep a bit longer?"

He seems to contemplate that and takes one more step inside the room. „I have to pee," he eventually says.

Elliot's eyes go to the digital alarm on the nightstand the digits 5:58 flashing in white. It's probably around the time the boy gets up every morning.

„Right. Well, how about you go and then we'll… make breakfast?"

Again the boy nods, his eyes lighting up a little. „Can I have cereal?"

„Sure," Elliot agrees.

…

Noah sits at the breakfast bar shoveling Cinnamon Toast Crunch into his obviously very hungry body. Elliot watches the boy, smiling over his enthusiasm after he had agreed he could have cereal for breakfast. It had been an ice-breaker and Elliot is grateful for it.

„I'm not going to get in trouble with your mom for giving you cereal, am I?" The boy grins toothily at him, seemingly enjoying that idea.

„My mommy lets me have cereal, too," he tells the man. „But she makes me eat a banana or an apple, too, before kindergarten," he adds unhappily.

„Don't you like fruit?"

„I like cereal better."

„Hm." No surprise there. All five of Elliot's children preferred cereal over fruit any day.

„Is my mom okay?" The boy's question catches Elliot unprepared. For a moment he falters.

„Yeah, she's okay, kiddo." He doesn't know how much Noah knows exactly besides the obvious.

„Did she cry again?" Elliot swallows hard. It's a question he doesn't know how to answer.

„She was in pain," he explains instead.

„Because she's got an owie on her leg and the doctors _oprated _on her," Noah says. „She was at the hospital and I was with Amanda."

„You were, huh?"

„Uh-huh. Because mommy needed to rest."

„So, you've seen your mom cry, huh?" _Don't interrogate a four year-old,_ Elliot scolds himself mentally.

He shovels another spoon of cereal in his mouth, ignoring the question.

„Does she do that a lot?"

Noah looks down insecurely, his cooperativeness obviously dwindling.

„Hey, Noah, it's okay. You don't have to tell me," Elliot assures.

„She'll get mad at me."

„Why would she do that?" Elliot asks softly.

„Because I'm not asleep and hear," he mumbles.

„Hear… her cry?"

Noah nods slowly. „She's sad because I don't listen" Elliot reaches out and gently rubs the little boy's shoulder.

„I don't believe that, buddy."

„But she gets really mad when I don't."

„Yeah, that's… that's what mom's do, you know? Dad's too. When we worry then sometimes we get upset, that that doesn't mean she's crying because of you, alright? Your mom's… she's probably sad about a lot of things but I know for sure she's not mad at you."

„How do you know?"

„Well, I've known your mom for a very long time. Long before you were even born," he smiles at the brown-haired boy. „And she wanted a little boy like you for a long time. And I know that she loves you more than anything else in this world, Noah."

„You do?"

„I do. Because she told me so. But she didn't actually have to. Because whenever she looks at you or talks about you? I can see it."

„How?" Noah asks with big eyes.

„Well, does your mom ever hug you real tight and you feel all warm and happy?"

„Uh-huh! Mommy loves hugs."

„I'm sure she does. Well, that's how I know. Because when she talks about you then I can see that she feels all warm and happy." He tickles the boy's side, making him giggle into his cereal bowl. „Just like this, this is how she feels about you."

„That tickles," Noah whoops. For a moment the little boy is much more carefree and they laugh as Elliot teases him.

„Okay, enough, enough. It's time to finish breakfast, Noah," he smiles.

„Okay," the four year-old agrees. He eats quietly until his blue eyes look up to Elliot.

„Everything okay buddy?"

„Is my mommy going to die?"

_Jesus fucking Christ._

„No. No, Noah, of course not. She's unwell because of her injury but she is not going to die." That poor child, he thinks. This is certainly not something he should worry about and Elliot has no idea why Noah worries about Olivia dying.

…

When she wakes it feels like her head is going to burst. It's a thumping ache she can't even locate, so she groans and keeps her eyes closed because the daylight coming in through the bedroom window makes it worse. For a long time, at least it feels like a long time, Olivia can't grasp a single thought. Then, suddenly, one thing registers.

_Noah. _

It is obviously daytime and she thinks she might have forgot to set her alarm when Elliot had persuaded her to go to bed. Despite the pain she forces her eyes open to check the time. 7:10.

_Shit. _

She tries to sit up but it's like someone strikes her with a hammer and she sinks back. Her leg is throbbing, too and all she can think is how she needs her pills that are where she always keeps them - on the kitchen counter, far in the back where Noah can't reach.

Which is only one of the many problems. Noah needs to get to kindergarten. At this rate she isn't sure she is going to manage to take him. Certainly not in time.

„N-Noah?" She calls out. Again she attempts to sit up, this time succeeding as she pushes herself up against the headboard. The effort and splitting headache combined make her nauseous.

_Migraine. _

She has had a few of those in the past.

„No-," she starts again, pressing her eyes shut because that's the only way it's bearable at all.

„Liv," she hears and the pieces fall into place. Elliot. He must have stayed which means her son was taken care of.

_Good._

„Hey, are you alright? What is it?" He can see she isn't okay and hurries to her side. „Is it the leg?"

She slowly shakes her head no. „Migraine," she mutters. „Noah…"

„He's okay, don't you worry. He had breakfast and I'll take him to kindergarden. What do you need?"

What she needs is for this splitting ache to stop and preferably for Elliot to stop talking because noise makes it ten times worse.

„My pills."

They shoot her entire nervous systems to hell so maybe they'll do _something _for her in terms of the headache.

„Okay." Hastily Elliot heads to the kitchen where he persuades Noah to stay put, explaining his mom has headache and needs some rest. He gets the orange bottle from the counter and a glass of water for her to wash the pills down.

At the sight of Olivia his heart races and his undershirt sticks to his clammy back. Why on earth can't she catch a break? First last night, now this. At least Noah has agreed to stay in the living room, although it is as clear as day that the little boy is frightened, unaware of what exactly is going on.

„How many?"

„Two."

He fixes her medication and helps her with the water before he asks about details for Noah's kindergarten routine and details. It takes a little while before he feels ready to leave Olivia alone despite her reassurance that she'll be fine. She's far from fine, whom is she kidding?

By the time he leaves with Noah it becomes apparent that the boy will be late. They walk the three blocks for the lack of a carseat suitable for a four year old once Elliot gets a spare shirt from the trunk of his car. It's rumpled but will make a better impression than showing up late in an undershirt. Noah shows Elliot the way to his class room and through the pane of glass in the door he can see the children sitting in a circle, the teacher, a woman in her late twenties to early thirties Elliot surmises, among them with a guitar. The singing comes through the door and Elliot tells Noah they better wait until they finish with the song as not to interrupt. Not a minute later the song is done and before he knocks on the door the woman catches sight of Elliot. She gets up as he opens the door.

„Good morning," Elliot starts and the teacher spots Noah.

„Noah, good morning, come on in." With his backpack the little boy walks inside as the teacher steps closer. „You can sit down with the others, we were just about to repeat our finger play."

„Okay," the boy agrees and Elliot can see he's not at all happy to go in.

„Hey," Elliot says softly. „It's okay, buddy. You just try to have fun, don't worry. I'll take good care of your mom, I promise."

Noah looks at Elliot and nods and for a moment he thinks the little boy is going to burst into tears but then he turns and dutifully finds a place in the group.

„Could I talk to you for a moment?" Elliot asks, lowering his voice. The teacher nods and informs the children she will be right back before she steps into the hallway and closes the door.

„Elliot Stabler," Elliot introduces himself. „I'm sorry we are late. I'm a family friend. Olivia, Noah's mother, isn't doing so well this morning," he explains.

„Oh. Okay," the woman nods, her voice sympathetic.

„I'm not sure about your policy here, obviously I'm a stranger to you, I was just wondering, in case of an emergency, do you call Miss Benson or his nanny Lucy? I… I'm not positive that Olivia would be able to pick him up and I know I can't without written authority-," he sighs softly, a million thoughts going through his head at once. „Which she wasn't capable of writing out this morning." Chances are the woman in front of him is not going to tell him anything. He's a complete stranger to her after all.

„I see," the teacher says. „Um, usually, in case of an emergency we contact Miss Benson. I could check if she provided an other number for us other than her cell and work number.

„That would be great," Elliot agrees. „Thank you."

„I'll just be a minute," she says and excuses herself. Back in the room Elliot can see how she talks to the kids who listen attentively before she takes a red folder from a shelf. His gaze shifts to Noah who just looks sad, making Elliot wonder if he should have let the boy say goodbye to his mom despite her being in poor shape.

_Damned if you do, damned if you don't. _

„I'm afraid Miss Benson only provided her own number." Her face shows Elliot that the woman understands his dilemma. „We will advise her to provide other contacts in case of an emergency but right now…"

„Yes, no…that's… that's fine. I mean, unfortunate right now but I understand, I have kids, I know the drill. Um…" He is trying to think, running his hand over his hair. „Olivia said his nanny is going to pick him up?"

„She usually does," the woman nods. Elliot is in between a rock and a hard place. It's too late to take the boy with him now, the school wouldn't let him if he tried. „Look, I understand this is an unexpected kind of situation but I am sure that in a worst case we'll find a way that will assure that Noah can be picked up by his nanny or you."

„It's just that he's…it's very hard on him, he's worried."

„May I ask what's happening at home? Just so I know what to expect if he should say something."

„Erm…" Olivia is likely going to kill him but this is important. „Noah's mother is in a lot of pain a lot of the time - excruciating physical pain - the leg," he explains with a nod of his head. „She's had a very rough night which I can't be sure he's heard something he shouldn't have." He should have checked instead of assuming Noah slept through it all just because it was quiet in the room. What he does know is that Noah has heard his mother cry before when he should have been asleep. There has been a lot of noise during Olivia's cramps. There has been retching and vomiting. There definitely has been plenty of sobbing when she had confided in Elliot about how she feels.

_I wish I'd just die. _

It should have clicked immediately, not now when he stands in front of Noah's teacher, trying to give her some basic information of what has transpired.

_Does my mommy have to die?_

„If he heard something it might have been quite… disturbing for a child. He doesn't… it's hard for him to understand."

„Okay, I see."

_No, you don't. You have no idea. _

„I'd appreciate if you'd call in case he seems to feel unwell."

„Of course," the teacher agrees nodding.

„Okay. Thank you."

„You're welcome. Thank you for dropping him off."

Elliot gives a single nod before he glances through the pane in the door again and catches Noah looking at them. He raises his hand to wave at the boy who waves back unenthusiastically.

_I'm sorry, Noah_.

With a heavy heart but no choice Elliot turns to leave.

…

It looks different. Everything looks completely different than it did six and a half years ago. The squad room is lighter. They no longer have metal desks and the detectives are much better equipped. The powers that be must have invested some serious money in SVU. Funny. They had been rather ungenerous with funding back in the day. The person he is looking for catches sight of him before he does as he rounds a corner that once held the tiny kitchenette where they used to make coffee or tea. Mostly coffee.

„Stabler."

Elliot turns and his anger does get the better of him when he looks in Fin Tutuola's face.

„What are you doin' here?"

Justifiable question. Elliot himself hadn't thought he'd ever stop foot into this specific bullpen again. Fin walks towards him, a file in his hand, that he nonchalantly drops on one of the desks on his way. His name plate states Sergeant Tutuola. In caps. Interesting. He never took Fin for the kind of guy who'd get into office politics and work directly under the CO.

„What am _I_ doing here? What are you doing?" Elliot glares at him, stepping closer.

The look on the other man's face is confusion.

„Care to enlighten me what that would be?" The sergeant crosses his arms, wondering what the hell all this attitude is about.

„Olivia?" Elliot simply states. „Have either of you thought to check on her?"

Fin exhales and nods. Of course this is about her. Olivia is the only link between the two men after Stabler's departure. „Of course."

„Oh, is that so?" Elliot retorts brusquely. „So you are aware that she's mentally unstable and about starving herself?"

„Elliot, man… we're aware, we're…"

„You're what? What is it that you're doing?" He demands. „Standing by the sidelines and waiting for her to _ask _for help?"

„Elliot-," Fin tries again.

„Because fat chance! Is she going to therapy?"

„Would you-,"

„Is she?" The former detective snaps, raising his voice that now echos through the squad room and make some heads turn.

„I don't think so," Fin says, his stare hardening as well. „And we both know how well she is going to respond if we make her feel like crap about it."

„Maybe, but this is no longer about nagging her for not going. Liv's depressed, she is not stable, she isn't capable to make this decision soundly," he says, the fight all of a sudden leaving him.

„Yeah, you tell her that."

„I _will_ tell her that, because this can't continue. She is not well, Fin. She is really, _really_ fucking unwell and I am telling you now that it's not going to go away if we leave those decisions about therapy, eating, doctor's appointments and what not all up to her. We may have thought we can but I am telling you that we can't. Because she can't handle it and I am not going to let her fuck up her life or worse watch her become suicidal. Because she's pushed that door wide open," he adds as an afterthought. „And if she can't walk out of harm's way then we are damned well going to shove her."

„Come on, I know you are worried but do you honestly think it's that bad?"

„Do you think I'd come to you if I didn't _know _it is that bad?"

This gives the sergeant a pause. It's true, Elliot is a person who doesn't necessarily confer with other people.

„Her leg gives her excruciatingly painful spasms that make her a sobbing mess, Fin. I've never seen her like this, I have never seen anything like it, period. And she told me last night that she can't take it, that she is in so much pain all the time-," he explains. „She is drinking. She puked her guts out last night because she mixed her meds with whisky and I don't need to tell you what would happen if CPS caught wind of it. She couldn't have taken care of Noah last night if it had been necessary, I was this close to take her to the ER. She says she wishes she'd just _die_. Liv's no longer just in poor shape, she's spiraling. And we should have known." He includes himself in that. „We should have seen it, we should have questioned it much sooner."

„I've seen her the day before yesterday, man. I… I didn't know, she seemed…"

„Fine? Come on, she'll always say she's fine. She's Liv. But I am telling you she is not fine." He looks at Fin dead serious. „I am scared for her, okay. Scared shitless. And I don't know if I can do this all by myself. And I know you can't do it all, the hours here certainly haven't changed. But I need backup. As much as I can get."

Fin eventually nods. „I'll talk to Rollins."

„I'm going to stay with her for the weekend and I'll see about scheduling therapy appointments for next week."

„You think she'll go?" Fin sounds doubtful. If Olivia doesn't want to go she isn't going to go.

„Oh, she'll go. I don't care if I have to throw her over my shoulder and take her." By the way Stabler looks right now Fin thinks he might just do that if she puts up a fight. „I just need to know if we'll all pull together."

Fin nods although he is torn. „I've got your back in this. And I think I can speak for Amanda, too."

„Good. Thanks," Elliot says and exhales heavily. „I need to get back to her. She's not feeling well." He turns and is on his way out.

„Elliot?"

At his name he stops and turns. „Yeah?"

„You call me when you need somethin'." The sergeant holds out his card with his phone number and Elliot accepts it.

„Sure thing."

…

Elliot stops at a store for groceries on his way back to Olivia's. By the time he gets home he finds her back asleep with a wet cloth on her forehead and a bucket by the bed that's luckily empty. He takes it Olivia must have been very nauseous which he knows is common with migraines because Kathy used to have them. Although he is worried he decides to let her sleep and heads to the kitchen where he starts making chicken soup. He thinks soup is a good place to start for a stomach that isn't used to full meals anymore. He chops celery, carrots and leek while the water comes to boil. The chicken goes in first, then Elliot adds the vegetables. It soon smells delicious.

He listens carefully for any sounds from the bedroom and is there when he hears Olivia shuffling, catching her on the way to the bathroom.

„Hey," he says softly. „How's the head?"

She stops in her tracks. „Better," she says. It still hurts like hell but it's not nearly as bad as it used to be where every motion of her body came with waves of nausea „Did everything go okay with Noah? He's in kindergarten?"

„He is," he agrees although he'd say it didn't go quite okay. They will have to talk about this, about Noah and the things he might have overheard in the past and likely last night.

„Thanks," she mutters, physically down. Then something occurs to her. „Why are you still here?" Olivia thinks Elliot must have taken her keys or else he wouldn't have gotten back inside the apartment.

„Really, Liv?" He raises an eyebrow. She knows full well that she would do the same for him. No way he is going to leave her alone in such poor health.

„Don't you have work?"

„I took a day," Elliot say easily.

„I'm fine, El." She sees the look on his face and sighs softly. „I'm fine _now_. I'll get by."

„I'm sure you would. But I'm not going anywhere." This, as expected, gets an instant reaction.

„Excuse me?"

„I said I'm not going anywhere. For now." His tone is insistent.

„Really?"

„Really," he says matter-of-factly.

„What if I want you to leave?"

„Then I'll have to tell you that I'm sorry but that's not going to happen. Not after last night."

„El…," she tries a different approach, her voice softening, but that is not going to help soften him.

„No, hear me out, Liv. We need to talk about what happened there. We _will_ talk about it. But I doubt right now is the time. Anyway, I am not going to leave you alone."

„Oh please." Now that edge in her voice is back, she gets defensive, her gaze instantly dark. „Just because I said I wish I had died doesn't mean I'm going to kill myself, Elliot," she huffs. Of course Olivia is fully aware that she also said she wishes she'd just die but she thinks it hardly makes a difference.

„That's not what this is about." Not entirely at least.

„So it's about the drinking? Fine. I promise I won't touch the whisky."

Elliot can tell she is getting more agitated quickly. She couldn't drink if she wanted to, he poured that whisky out in the sink. So at least for now he thinks he's got that issue covered.

„It's not about just one thing, Olivia," he says sternly. „It's about everything."

„Is this about Noah? You don't trust me to be alone with him?"

„I just said it's not about just…"

„Is it? You think I can't be trusted around my son?"

„No, I don't think that."

„Then what?"

„This is not the time to get into that."

„Like hell it's not," she hisses, her head screaming with agonizing pain as she does and Elliot doesn't miss it either as her face screws up.

„I'll make you some tea."

„I can make my own tea," she tells him defiantly. He knows that the migraine plays into his hands. If Olivia would be in better shape she'd undoubtedly give him a much harder time. As it stands however she is too weak to fight him so when he replies he can actually see her giving in and letting him win.

„I'll make you tea," he just repeats calmly. „Let me know if you need help."

…

**End notes: Certainly not the (calm) end to this conversation... or is it? Do you think Liv is still fit to take care of Noah without any sort of supervision? Able to make important decisions for herself? Let me know what you think.**


	10. All the king's horses

Notes: I want to thank the incredible **Amilyn** who has beta-ed this chapter, listened to my rants, brainstormed with me. You are a rockstar and you make this experience so much more fun! Thank you!

...

**...**

**-**_All the king's horses, all the king's men _

_couldn't put me together again _

_Cause all of my enemies started out friends_

_Help me hold onto you**-**_

_**...**_

Olivia eats some of the soup. Elliot squashed two small potatoes in to thicken the soup and up the calories. He is relieved when she eats some of the carrots, celery, pieces of chicken. She eats slowly, and Elliot can see that every spoonful takes significant effort. It's clearly not a general aversion but a battle against nausea.

„Have you seen your physician for the nausea?" He only speaks once she has finished the meal, leaving some in the small bowl he had fixed her.

Looking up, Olivia huffs quietly. „He says it's psychosomatic."

„Do _you _think it's psychosomatic?" Elliot sounds sympathetic. He is not a doctor, he doesn't know the first thing about any of it. What he does know, however, is that it's not going to be at all simple. No matter the reason, he expects some sort of roadmap or instincts, how to go about solving this.

„You mean do I think I'm crazy?" She is surprisingly resigned. „I don't know. Maybe." Clearly she isn't imagining the constant sickness, but at this point, who knows if maybe she is making herself sick somehow. Olivia isn't sure how exactly psychosomatic issues work. It's as good a guess as any.

„Are you seeing your psychologist?" He is treading carefully now. The answer is in Liv's silence. She doesn't even look at him now and casts her eyes downwards.

_Of course she isn't. _

It needs to be addressed, and Elliot figures she knows it is coming when she reaches for her crutch. Escape. It's the only thing she has ever known.

„Olivia," he says softly. „Sit."

„We're not doing this. You're not… you don't get to do this."

„And you know how important psych support is in your situation," he responds calmly, doing his best to stay level headed.

„Oh come on, Elliot. You're not exactly the poster child for therapy," she mutters underneath her breath as she gets up.

„That was different. Back then things were… Look, you hated it as much as I did. We both deemed it unnecessary to be cleared before they'd let us back in on a case. But this…"

„Spare me the lecture, okay? I've been going to therapy for months. It didn't help so there is no point. I can talk about it all I want, it's not making anything better."

He can measure her agitation by the speed of her voice and her avoidance of him. Escalation is inevitable. Push will have to come to shove. The one big question is when and how.

„You're not dealing in healthy ways, Liv."

„Which implies there is a healthy way to deal with this?" She demands, gesturing at her damaged leg. „Please, please tell me Elliot, how do you imagine therapy will impact my life so greatly? They can't talk away the nausea, the cramps, the fact I can't walk for even ten minutes. They can't stop me from losing my mind to this constant pain." she shouts.

Elliot understands her need to vent, so for now he bites his tongue.

„Do you know what my 'homework' is? To go to a…a coffee shop! To do things I used to enjoy! Well, do you know what? I don't enjoy these things anymore. There is _nothing_ I've enjoyed in…I don't even know how long. My prognosis is hopeless, Elliot," she fake smiles at him. „Nothing's gonna change. This is my life. So excuse me when I think I would have been better off if I had died."

_Jesus. Again with the 'I'd be better off dead' talk. _He can't take it.

"It doesn't get better than this. So I'm fucked. Okay? I'm fucked. If physical therapy isn't going to change that, no psychologist can either. So no, I am not going. I am not wasting my time and money on a lost cause."

"When you already said it - what about physical therapy?" He remembers his conversation with his friend who was talking about a whole lot of stuff Elliot doesn't have a clue of. One thing he remembers very specifically however, is the high risk of blood clots that may travel to the lung, cause pulmonary embolism, and consequently serious complications or death.

"Oh God," she groans. He is really going to do this.

"Without the necessary exercises you are high risk for blood clots," he tries to reason with her with his superficial knowledge but Olivia is just looking at him as if asking '_So what?' _

He doesn't know what it's like, physical therapy. How it feels like with every exercise they stab at what little remains of her muscles with a butcher knife. How she had liked nothing better than to squirm and scream at Mary -Ann's hands when only hope and stubbornness have made her grit her teeth and pull through instead. Because if he would know, Elliot wouldn't dare ask such utterly stupid questions like _what about physical therapy._

"Is that supposed to scare me? Blood clots?" She laughs at him like the idea is ridiculous.

"Yes, Olivia! Jesus fucking Christ, yes, that is supposed the scare you shitless! What if you get even worse? What if you actually do die? What then? What about Noah?" He never thought he'd ask her the very same question she had once directed at him in front of a hospital room: "What about me?"

Facing him she glares. "Do you know what is scary? That I can't remember what it feels like not be in pain. Knowing I never will not be in excruciating, all consuming, can't focus on or think of anything else kind of pain." When Lewis had her under his psychopathic thumb she had thought she knew what real pain is. And she did, of course she did - she has got an entire map of scars and marks on her to prove it. But at least with Lewis, despite the constant terror when she wasn't blissfully passed out, there were moments he left her alone and didn't torment her. She got breaks. And she had hope, however dwindling, that she could escape that pain, escape him. But this? This is not something she is going to escape now, is she? Olivia draws a shaky breath and exhales quickly.

"Not being able to take care of my son? Not being good enough for him - because what do I possibly still have to offer him in terms of a life suitable for a small child? I used to be a good mother, I think. I always tried my best to be patient, loving, understanding of his needs. Now I flip at him every chance that I get and I resent myself for it because I am snapping at my kid whenever he acts like a _kid._

That scares me. That terrifies me. Not death. Not anymore. And fuck you for throwing _that_ back in my face."

She resents the last question. _What about him. _

Olivia tries to convince herself that the situation had been different with the Gitano case. He had expected her to shoot him, to live with that burden, to… to face his family, his four children, as the person who took his life. She ignores the voice in her head that whispers to her that all of this, however true, has not been the only thing she had worried about first and foremost.

"I'm not throwing anything back in your face, Liv," he murmurs helplessly.

"The hell you aren't. I hate that you are trying to make _this_, any of it, all of it about _you!" _

_Because: _

_Who am I supposed to talk to?_

_What am I supposed to do when you're not here?_

_Who am I without you by my side? _

_How do you think I'm going to survive when you're gone?_

_Don't you dare do this to me. _

_I need you. _

And then, as an afterthought but with booming reverberation, like a perfect crescendo.

_I love you. _

But she can't dwell on this now, she can't go back to that time and place, not even in her head. So once more Olivia outlines the situation for Elliot because after speaking it all out loud it has never been clearer / more clear even to her.

"I _am_ a lost cause."

Her words make him swallow hard. How can she even say that when she has stopped trying? When he believes there must be _something_ that can still be done, then why can't she?

„You are not a lost cause, Liv."

„The hell I'm not," she spits, her tone pure venom. „What else, huh? How much more shit can the universe possibly throw at me? There is _nothing_! I've seen it all! All of it! And I'm sick of it! My entire life I was running as fast as I can and you know what?" Suddenly she laughs cynically. „The irony is that this… _this_ is how it ends. One stupid car accident is what fucks me up for good. I've managed to outrun being conceived in rape, my lousy childhood, my drunk mother," she chuckles. "Sealview? Sure. Lewis? God, he was a sick fuck. And he got to me twice. I mean - what are the odds?" She sounds frantic, her eyes wild as she flings a gesture at him with her free hand. "And you. I accepted losing _you, _you goddamn son-of-a-bitch. I survived _you! _And isn't this just the kicker?" She looks at him as if she expects an answer.

"Liv," he tries, and she points a shaking finger at him, making him stop.

"I got an infection worth cutting off my leg after being T-boned by a fucking Ford," she glares at him. "And they didn't! I wouldn't let them! Because I outrun complications! I am _better _than this!" Olivia screams.

_Oh, Liv, as much as you want to you can't outrun this. You physically can't do anything but drag that leg at a glacial pace._

He desperately wants to give her something to hold on to now that she's so lost. It tears his heart to shreds. Her desperation, soaked in blazing fury, hits so hard that he can't breathe. Everything about her attitude chills him to the bone these days. Elliot's face slowly furrows into a mirror of her anguish, trying to fight the pricking sensation of dust settling on his eyes he forces them to stay open. If he so much as blinks he is going to lose the battle to tears, undoubtedly. He steps closer, in spite of Olivia's demeanor that's half _Do you have a death wish_ and half deer in headlights. He steps so close he inhales her exhales.

"You are perfect," he grinds out through clenched teeth.

…

There he goes, telling her she's perfect when she feels like waste. These particular badlands are no longer fruitful, so whom is he trying to convince? Her life? It's basically over. She's no longer the person who believes, needs to believe, that in all the bad there's something worthwhile lingering.

Elliot reaches out. Olivia feels his fingertips brush her wrist, then they move all the way down to her once strong, now bony fingers. Even at his once igniting touch she feels hollow and barren. For a fraction of a second she wants to believe and trust until the familiar pins-and-needles sensation that comes seconds before a cramp hurls Olivia right back into her desolate prison.

To even think that she could have a moment's solace without reality's painful destruction…._Stupid, stupid, stupid. _

His breath hits her mouth again and again, he's way too close, and obnoxiously, intentionally, she breathes back in angry waves. She stares at him resolutely until there's a definite slump of her body. The leg develops a life of its own again, screams as if she needs a reminder of its atrophied existence. Elliot squints at her and she knows he's aware then. She hates that he is here for it. Again. Her attempt to get it over with quietly fails as a dull sound of distress pushes past her lips.

The pain pulses in quick a quick succession of pangs, different from the searing, ongoing sensation that sets her nerves on fire. What once was just in her leg is now excruciating pain crawling up to her lower back, or maybe it's crawling down from that location, she can't tell.

It only takes her a millisecond to know something is wrong before the pain hits her square in the back, she can't even catch her breath. It is brutal, agonizing, right to the bone and the marrow. Olivia yelps. Her legs collapse as if someone is pulling the rug beneath her feet and instead of falling into nothingness she falls into Elliot who is just as unprepared for a physical breakdown, but seemingly just as frightened. He grabs her arms tightly as she lands against his chest. He doesn't even sway; he is solid, like a rock in the middle of her living room. As quickly as her legs had given out she manages to find her footing. Convinced that she doesn't need him or his help she pushes away. Elliot, however, doesn't let go.

Her heart races, and Elliot says what she is thinking.

„What the hell was that?"

„Nothing. I lost my balance." She's no longer as sharp as she used to be. Most likely the expression of shock and fear on her face speak volumes to her ex-partner. „I'm fine." The lie chokes the last bit of air out of her lungs. She doesn't feel fine at all. He knows it. She knows it. On the contrary, she feels so overwhelmed, shock still engulfing her, that Elliot is blurring to a fuzzy shape in front of her and her lips and cheeks tingle. The leg throbs terribly, but she can hardly focus on that as her heart hammers in her chest. She can hear her blood swooshing in her head.

"Liv…look at me. Are you okay?"

She hears him and yet she can't make out a single word. She feels the squeeze of his hands, the heat beneath them, the imprint his fingertips are sure to leave, his breath on her temple. She can't catch her breath. Can't move. Can't think. Everything feels hazy, sounds far away.

Trapped inside herself, she is terrified. The tingling sensation spreads from her cheeks to her chin and all the way down into her hands until it drops to her feet where it turns into numbness.

Olivia is so consumed by it that she doesn't realize Elliot is maneuvering her towards the sofa and sits her down. She doesn't know how long it's been as she begins coming out of it, her hands trembling, her breath coming in pants when she could have sworn she wasn't doing the natural inhale-exhale routine. She blinks rapidly and sees tiny lights dancing in her field of vision. It takes another minute until she sees deep blue eyes, worried eyes.

"I'm okay," she offers before he can even speak up.

"I know, you're always okay," he says and shakes his head at her. "Liv, you should see your doctor. Let me take you to your doctor."

"I am okay," she repeats for him.

"You aren't, though."

"It was a panic attack, I've had them before."

"That's not what I'm talking about. You threw up several times last night-," before he can finish Olivia cuts him off.

"That was the whisky."

"And woke up with a migraine this morning that took you out."

"Most likely the whisky as well."

"You just collapsed."

"I lost my balance," she argues.

"No, you didn't. I've seen you lose your balance and that's not what this was. This wasn't normal, Liv. Even you have got to admit that this was new. What if it happens again? When Noah's around? This scared the crap out of me, Liv. How do you think your four-year-old son will process something like this?" She hates the soothing voice he speaks in, the one he used to reserve for victims. And while she wants to rebel and not give him the satisfaction of going, Olivia has to admit that Elliot has got a point. Without Elliot she would have landed flat on her face. And both of her legs collapsing like this had scared her out of her mind.

"He's still at kindergarten. If you could just call Lucy and ask her to watch him for a little longer? I just want to make sure you're okay. Please?"

She is tired, feeling like she has exhausted her daily limits of noncompliance. The frustration, the agitation, the screaming, the pain - it has worn her out. And maybe, if she agrees, he will shut the hell up and leave her alone.

"Fine."

…


	11. All the glory fading before me

**Notes: Another heartfelt THANK YOU to the lovely Amilyn who has beta'ed this chapter and helped me brainstorm about what was missing, how the chapter should end and so on and so on... You rock! **

**Chapter 11 **

**All the glory fading before me**

Not two hours later they are sitting in the car en route to Olivia's physician. While Elliot is pleased, Olivia is dejected. She already knows how it is going to go. There is nothing the man can do for her in terms of better pain management when Vicodin isn't doing it, and the anti-nausea is one of the mildest compounds, so if that knocks her right out for hours, then anything stronger will do, too. And the nausea, well, apparently that is all in her head anyway. The one possible benefit is that maybe Elliot will realize it is hopeless and give up, too. Her existence hinges on a synergy of pain and nausea.

As she's staring out the passenger window, scraping the nail of her thumb against the pad of her index-finger, she can feel Elliot's eyes on her, taking her in. She could throw him a bone, glance back at him, maybe even go through the trouble of offering one of those small, reassuring smiles that are so rare these days. But she doesn't. Instead she keeps the wall up high, adding another line of bricks for good measure, making sure everything is back in place. Today, even last night, she had lost her composure, and let him in by doing so. First by sobbing like the hot mess she has become, and a couple of hours ago by screaming about her piss poor existence until it felt she had no single breath left inside of her. But whatever she pulled in needs to be hurled right back out. Olivia no longer has the strength to deal with Elliot Stabler getting under her skin. Because when he does she is going to start feeling like she owes him. Something. Never quite sure why exactly that is, but for him? She'd go the extra mile, always has, always will. And she doesn't have even a tenth of a mile to give. Not for him, not for anyone.

She can't let his faith, his hope, his absurd belief that she is going to get better if only she goes to therapy and doctors, get infectious. She can't let it seep into her being only to get her soul crushed by her harsh reality.

This wall, it's necessary. And there can be no way for Elliot to climb over it, go through it, or walk around it. This wall needs to be impervious. Not just for today, but for the future, too.

There are things Elliot can't fix. He can't glue everything that has fallen apart back together. It's not how it works. And it's not just about the leg, either. It's about six years of loss, missing him dreadfully, hurt, distance. It's about what he has done to them. What he _chose_ to do to them. It's what helps her get that wall back up every time it crumbles, what keeps it solid when it really counts.

She is not sitting in this car for his benefit; she is doing it for Noah. As much as she hates to admit it, Elliot had a point when he brought her son up. The thing is, she already knows it's futile. While she doesn't know what the hell has caused both her legs to buckle, she does know that her physician isn't going to have an answer, he's a general practitioner after all. But he could have insisted on taking her to the ER, which is absolutely not going to happen. Still, she is on edge, eyes darting, hands fumbling and restless.

She hates the doctor's office. Hates the attempt at casual decor, the smell of sickness, the despair that's already spreading within her like a wildfire when she's not even in the building. She has learned to dread the examination room, the treacherous scales that tell on her weight loss. Before Olivia feels the bite of tears, they are already rolling down her cheek, and she swipes them away with the sleeve of her sweatshirt wrapped around her thumb.

He knows. Of course he knows, she thinks bitterly as Elliot's hand gently settles on her thigh. He doesn't have to see the tears to know they are there. Years ago this kind of gesture, his hand on her, in any capacity, would have been the paragon of inappropriate. They were partners, he was married-to his wife at home, to her on the job. It had always been a very fine line between what they both had silently agreed was allowed and was not. They had never labeled this thing between them, they wouldn't have dared, but they both had been excruciatingly aware of it. They had embraced the silence. Maybe a little too well.

The times Elliot had touched her when they were still partners had been few and far in between. But each time had blurred the lines, however innocent the contact.

Now they are no longer partners. Now Elliot is no longer married. The boundaries and fine lines have been erased between partnership and friendship and the _something more, lingering just below the surface_. For the first time, it occurs to Olivia that Elliot has touched and held her, has seen more of her in the past six months, than he had in the twelve-something years of their partnership. For God's sake, he had seen her naked in the tub yesterday, had helped her out with nothing but a towel between her nude body and himself. Olivia figures it is safe to say that any sense of not getting physically too close has been shot to , his palm gently settling on her clothed thigh feels more intimate than that, more intimate than all the eye-fucking they had done across their joint desks for years. And yet there is nothing sexual about this. It's a gesture of support. Nothing more. Nothing less. Yet it threatens to make that wall crumble, which can't happen. She takes his hand but instead of holding it, she peels it off.

She can't do this. She can't allow herself to feel this… this thing that translates to intimacy. Not again. Not with Elliot anyway.

...

„Liv," he says gently. He instantly misses the contact, her warmth, the comfort he wanted to offer but also needed for himself. He has never not been a selfish bastard.

„Don't. I can't… I…"

He glances over at her, and still she doesn't look at him, only staring at the city. She sounds choked up, vulnerable and small. It makes his insides bleed. He wipes his mouth with the hand she has rejected, unsure how to be what she needs.

„Okay," he murmurs.

He wishes she would tell him what she thinks. He used to be able to read her, but he's no longer quite sure what is going on in her head. Olivia never did accept much consolation, but Elliot thinks it is more than that.

Dragging his eyes away from her, Elliot tries to focus on something else. Only he can't. How is he not to think about the fact the woman next to him is crying. Again. She is doing it so much since the accident, so openly, like she hasn't in the entire time they had known each other. Whenever he sees tears forming in those beautiful brown eyes Elliot panics because Olivia… Olivia doesn't cry. He is completely out of his element because that dance they had perfected in the years of their partnership - it's long gone. He used to know where to set his foot, used to know the beat, what to do when and how. Everything he had once learned about Olivia, about how to interact with her, when to tread carefully and when to push? It's all muddled now. Nothing is what it used to be. It feels like he is only ever tiptoeing in the dark anymore.

The ride is too damned quiet. It reminds him of disagreements during cases, both pissed at the other and refusing to talk or give in, both convinced they're right. Or, at least, more right than the other because at the end of the day neither of them had been entirely wrong. But this is different. It's bigger, deeper, scarier. This new silence is unsettling because it feels like Liv is slipping away from him with every unspoken word. It feels like he is losing parts of her, like she has lost pieces that have left her splintered. He doesn't know how to find let alone put those pieces back together and make her whole again.

...

There are only a handful of other patients occupying the seats in the waiting area of Dr. Hader's practice. The lightning in the foyer is much warmer than that of the doctor's office down the hall, where it is cold and offensive. Olivia wordlessly makes her way over to the receptionist's desk. Instantly her chest tightens with dread. She would rather be anywhere but here. Elliot is trailing right behind her. She knows if he weren't, her flight mechanism would kick in and she'd be out of here. When the young receptionist, she can't be much older than twenty-five years old, looks up at her with a kind smile, Olivia makes a small sound of uneasiness.

"Olivia Benson for Dr. Hader."

The other woman nods with recognition. "Please have a seat. It might be a little while," she says apologetically. "Fifteen to twenty minutes," she clarifies.

"Thank you."

"Over there?" Elliot asks her, pointing at two single chairs in the back of the waiting room.

"Okay," she nods. When they sit she exhales, feeling jittery. Elliot looks around and takes in the interior decorations that look practically the same everywhere. For a moment he studies the pamphlets on a small table next to his chair but he soon gets bored.

"Do you want some water?" He is sitting with his legs far apart, desperately trying to make conversation.

"No." She wants to get the hell out of here is what she wants. She doesn't even know what she is doing here or what she is supposed to say to the nurse and doctor.

"Okay," he breathes out, looking at the carpeted floor beneath his feet.

Time seems to crawl. Olivia clearly has no desire to talk to him, or look at him for that matter. She's staring at her hands that are folded around her crutch. The little he can see of her profile tells him she is either frowning or worrying her lip.

"Olivia?" It's the nurse rousing her from her thoughts. "Follow me, please?"

Before she has even moved Elliot is already on both of his feet, offering his help, which she refuses. Like hell is she going make herself look more pathetic than she already does. She shoots a single glare at him before she limps past him, following the nurse to the hallway where the scales are. Elliot is right behind her, his presence rattling her. But she is too beat to attempt and do anything about it. At this point she is just content if he keeps his mouth shut.

"I'm Sally, and I'll be your nurse today. You can put your things right here," Sally, offers as she gestures at a small shelf.

Instead Olivia wordlessly shoves her handbag in Elliot's free hands. At least now he's no longer quite as useless, she thinks.

"Is it okay with you that he is here?" The blonde is skeptical, and Olivia figures they must look like some dysfunctional married couple. When the nurse steps a little closer to Olivia, she lowers her voice. "You know it's okay to say if it's not."

"It's fine," Olivia says after giving a tiny sigh as the scale zeros out. She balls her hands to fists as she steps on them, already knowing that they are going to tell the same story as on previous visits. Her internal tension escalates, extends in her chest to the point she can hardly breathe. The red read-out comes to a standstill. **117.3**.

"Jesus," she hears Elliot hiss under his breath. So he has taken a peek, too. Figures. For a short moment she hates him for putting her weight even more in focus.

The nurse takes a look, pauses, then nods just once as she types away on her computer.

"Okay, we're in room 3. I'll be right with you," Sally informs them with a smile. The friendliness unnerves Olivia.

Since she knows her way around here she finds the room easily. It's small enough to develop claustrophobia. Olivia enters first. She sighs as she sees the exam table, knowing it's going to trouble her leg. It's not her first time on this particular merry-go-round. Slowly she climbs the step, struggling to keep her balance as she brings up the damaged leg that instantly protests severely. She groans, tightens her grip on the lip of the table and twists her body into a position that allows her to scoot onto the bench and sit. The disposable paper rustles noisily beneath her as she sits down, legs dangling. She resentfully ignores Elliot's presence in the cramped room and parks the crutch against the table.

Sally is right behind them, filling the silence between them. The thermometer in Olivia's ear is quick and efficient.

"I am going to take your blood pressure now," she informs Olivia. And so she does. "A little on the low side," the nurse comments, then takes Olivia's pulse.

In her periphery she sees Elliot chewing away on the inside of his cheeks while he is nervously tapping his foot.

"Are you in any pain today, Olivia?"

For a brief moment Olivia hesitates, uncertain how to answer that question. Is she in any pain _today?_ _Really? _

"I'm always in pain," she mumbles, struggling not to snap at the nurse.

"Right," the nurse says softly, sounding apologetic as she retrieves a pain scale from one of the drawers. "Where would you place today's pain on the pain scale?"

Olivia scratches the front of her neck and gives a little shrug. She's reminding herself that Sally isn't trying to be an inconsiderate bitch, the woman is only doing her job. "Six?"

"Okay. And would you say that is more or less than a typical day?"

Olivia is running short on patience. She hates this. Absolutely hates it.

"It's… it depends."

"Depends on what?" Sally prods.

Elliot's intense gaze makes her insides burn. She can not say nothing and she won't get away with a lie, either.

"On the number of cramps I will still have. So far it's… probably a little better than yesterday, worse than it used to be a few weeks ago."

"I see. Are you still taking the same medication?"

"Yeah. The Vicodin for pain management."

"Okay. Dr. Hader will be with you shortly," Sally said around another smile before she excused herself.

"Thank you," Olivia forces out between her lips. And then Sally the nurse is gone and it's just Elliot, her and the proverbial elephant in the room. The cracks have formed for now. Of course Olivia doesn't want for things to be strained between them. Elliot cares about her, Olivia knows that. Deep inside she appreciates it. And of course she cares about Elliot, too, more than she can put into words, despite the horrible ways she has of showing it. Now here they are, hardly able to look at each other, it's _that_ uncomfortable. The silence is thick and awkward. Taunting. That being said, she wouldn't know what to talk about to Elliot right now, still agitated with his successful manipulation that brought her here in the first place. The goddamn table that doesn't allow Olivia's feet to touch the ground is going to give her a cramp, she knows it. She blames that on Elliot, too and her frustration bubbles inside her.

"Look, Liv…" Elliot's voice breaks through the silence but she cuts him off like she does so often.

"We don't have to do this," she sighs and shakes her head. Which means she won't do this because she doesn't want to do this. What he wants or needs is his dilemma. Finally she gives him the courtesy of glancing at him. Elliot looks like she had just struck him. His eyes reflect his insecurities, his doubt, making her wonder if he regrets forcing her to come here. Not that he has physically made her go but the implication was clear the moment he had uttered Noah's name. Elliot had known exactly what he was doing, how it would make her feel and that his little trick would influence her judgement and consequently her decision.

...

He sits awkwardly in a chair with her expensive leather purse on his lap. Apologies won't get him far with Olivia, he knows that, but he feels compulsion to say something, to make this right, earn her forgiveness. He doesn't regret making her go, of course. If there is one thing he is certain of it's that this is the exact place she needs to be. He just wishes she would have gone out of free will, not because he resorted to emotional extortion. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Only he has a feeling that this might backfire terribly. Before Elliot can dwell on it any longer there's a knock on the door and Dr. Hader, an older man, probably in his mid-sixties, enters the room, adjusts his glasses and sits down.

"So, Olivia. How have things been going? What brings you in today?"

Taking a deep breath, Olivia tries to come up with a response. She has the sneaking suspicion that Elliot knows just the thing to say, so however angry, she glances at him, as if that alone will be enough to give her an idea. She has never wished for telepathic powers more than in this moment. Dr. Hader turns towards the other man, raising an eyebrow before he looks back at Olivia.

"My par-," she stops, tries again. She has said these words so many times, _my partner_, they must be ingrained in her. "Ex-partner. He insisted I come in."

"Okay," the doctor agrees with a curt nod, once more looking back and forth between his patient and her companion, his eyes asking if she wants the man in the room or not.

"He can stay," she offers wearily. At this point she just wants to get it over with as quickly as possible. Tell Dr. Hader about how it's been going, listen to him tell her that there's nothing he can do. Same old story.

"Alright. I can see here you've lost weight. Another three pounds within three weeks," he looks at her over the rim of his glasses. He scans the notes of her last visits.

"I'm still nauseous," Olivia explains defeatedly as she is focusing on her fingers and her shoulders are slumping.

"Did you try the Phenergan?"

"Yes. It is making me woozy and sleepy. I have a child, I can't… I can't sleep all day." She's told him this before on her previous visits, when he had deemed her sickness psychosomatic.

"Fair enough. I can change your anti-emitic. I strongly advise you to read the package insert. It is less likely to cause tiredness but there are side effects to watch out for," he glances up at Olivia who nods and sounds resigned.

"Fine."

"Has the pain gotten any better?"

"It's getting worse," Elliot interjects before Olivia gets the chance to answer half-heartedly. The doctor however doesn't seem to care much about it and asks his patient instead.

"Is that correct?"

"Well..," Olivia says, the answer non-committal.

"Olivia," Elliot urges her. "She's in constant pain. The tremors are getting worse. She's experiencing horrible, _horrible_...," he stresses to make the physician understand. "...cramps several times a day. Today her legs just… gave out on her."

"Okay," the older man says calmly, taking a look at Olivia's numbers. "You've got low blood pressure. With the weight loss I'll take a wild guess and say you probably don't eat much which would have resulted in say… dizziness. It's not surprising that you fainted, Olivia," the doctor says, sounding reassuring. "Let's try to switch you-"

"Now wait," Elliot interrupts. "She didn't _faint_. Her legs just… stopped working, if that's not 'surprising' you then what is?" The older man looks at Elliot, obviously not impressed with the attitude, before he simply keeps talking to Olivia.

"I can switch you to a different kind of pain medication. Let's try Tramadol, that might be easier on your stomach. It's not as strong, though but there's…"

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," Elliot scoffs, raising his voice. Dr. Hader's first mistake was to dismiss him, the second to ignore him altogether.

"Excuse me?"

"El," Olivia tries, hoping he will calm down, but the second she sees the anger blazing in his eyes she knows it's futile, and she really doesn't have the energy to fight him. So she lets him.

"She is in excruciating pain already, and you want to give her something that's not _as strong_?" Elliot asks, jabbing a finger in the doctor's face. "What the hell do you think that's gonna do? She's been suffering from nausea for months and you told her it's all in her head…"

"It is most likely psychosomatic-," the doctor agrees, the tone of his voice more vigorous now.

"Most likely! How sure are you? Huh? How certain are you that she's only imagining this? How sure are you that it's not the pills that, newsflash, don't help, or the pain that's making her sick?" Elliot, getting more and more agitated, can't believe what he's hearing. "We want a referral for a second opinion."

_We_, Olivia notes. At this point, even if she wanted to tell Elliot to knock it off and keep his mouth shut she couldn't. She's stunned to silence as the two men stare each other down.

"A specialist for pain management. And Ortho," he clarifies.

"Fine. If that'll make you feel better." Dr. Hader then looks at Olivia, his voice more gentle, but she can feel how tense the man is after the dispute with Elliot. "We are doing the best we can in terms of pain management. Nothing I can prescribe is going to work better. The pain should be manageable with the Vicodin," he points out, calmly. "Give the Tramadol a try, come back in two weeks. I'll forward a prescription. You're still with the same pharmacy?"

Instantly Elliot is back in a rage after reading between the lines. As Olivia only nods, obviously defeated by yet another brush-off, he realizes he will have to fight this battle for her. Six months ago she would have never put up with crap like this. And now it seems she has given up entirely, that she is just so, so tired of trying for anything.

"So now you're saying she's just too touchy, complaining when there's no reason to complain?" Elliot hisses.

"That is not what I am saying." The doctor has had it, his patience wearing thin.

"Then what _are_ you saying, doc? Huh? Tell me. You took an oath. You are her Doctor, you are supposed to _help _her, instead you're not taking her health issues seriously, shrugging _everything_ off. What kind of quack doctor are you?"

The older man is only looking back and forth between Olivia and her overzealous _ex-partner_, seeing how uncomfortable his patient is. "Should I…"

"No. It's fine. We're done anyway." She is bracing herself for another round of accusations from Elliot.

"So long as we have those referrals."

"They'll be printed out and available at the front desk," Dr. Haden says curtly, not deigning a look at Elliot.

"Hallelujah," Elliot mocks and gets up to help Olivia off the table, thinking she better not dare push him away now. Surprisingly she doesn't. "Come on, let's get outta here." Carefully he guides her off the table, allowing Olivia to support herself on him. Elliot holds the door for her as they exit the room without another word. They pick the referrals up at the front desk and five minutes later they are back in the car.

Olivia's shoulders sag and she runs her hands through her hair, combing the loose strands back. Elliot can see that she is physically and emotionally exhausted. And is it any wonder after last night and the migraine she woke with this morning? This appointment has been much worse than Elliot had imagined it could be. Never in his life had he experienced such utter incompetence. He doesn't feel guilty about going off on that schmuck. Obviously he had no intention whatsoever to help Olivia. It seemed he didn't even believe her. Whatever the reason, he'll be damned if he ever sends her back there.

"Are you okay?"

"Peachy," she tries herself at sarcasm but her voice cracks and all she does is sound pathetic.

"Liv, he's… that guy's a moron."

"Just stop, Elliot," she pleads faintly, trying to keep a straight face. She fails miserably, which only stimulates the tears she is trying so hard to hold back.

_Three… two… one_

"I told you," she manages shakily, the tears winning out.

_Fuck. Yes. Yes, she did. _

Tentatively he reaches out, his fingers spreading out across the back of her neck where he rubs gently. "I'm sorry. But this… this isn't over, honey. We're going to find someone who can help you."

Beneath his touch she comes undone. She hadn't expected _anything_ from Dr. Hader, had she? Then why is she sitting here feeling crushed? The tiny circles Elliot is drawing around the back of her neck make her lose her composure even more - if that is even possible.

"We _will,_ Olivia," he whispers with conviction as her body is jolted by her quiet sobs that she's muffling with her hand. Caressing the back of her neck Elliot shifts, leaning in to her. "Olivia, listen to me."

She can't. She can't listen to him because she knows better. They can get all the referrals in the world and it won't do any good. Even specialists are only human. The pain won't magically disappear and neither will all the other symptoms going along with it. She wishes Elliot would just realize that this is where they are. It's not going to get better. She is not going to get better.

"Liv," he murmurs, his hand slipping from her neck to her thigh where her hands rest feebly. He takes it, squeezes. More than anything he wants to protect her. He wants to protect her from everything because Olivia Benson is his best friend in his _entire life_ and he is supposed to protect her. His heart clenches when she grabs his proffered hand and squeezes tightly, seemingly holding on for dear life. He doesn't want to make promises he can't keep but he'll be damned if he won't move heaven and hell to find someone who is going to help her and give her at least some relief. There is something that can be done, he knows it. He just knows it. All they need to do is find the right person and the right course of treatment. Until then he won't let her face her demons alone. He'll be right here by her side. Elliot doesn't know much, but this he knows.

"Liv," he whispers, lifting her hand that is wrapped around his fingers slowly until his lips graze her knuckles before he places a single kiss on them. "You're not alone in this."

**End notes: So... this is where we are. What do you think? Is Elliot overreacting (again?). Is Olivia right to give up? What about the things Noah heard? We'll see when that all will be brought to the table. Thank you for reading. Any feedback is highly appreciated! **


	12. Something to cling to

**Notes: Always painful to write and we haven't even gotten to the worst yet. Beta'ed by the amazing Amilyn (THANK YOU, LOVE!) who always brainstorms with me and gives me perspective. **

...

The tears Olivia cried after they left the doctor's office have turned into stoic resignation by the time they are back at her apartment. Not surprisingly, she hadn't allowed Elliot to console her for long. It was like she hadn't even heard him as he promised she isn't going to be alone in this, that they will fight this together. He realizes just how harmful all those visits at Dr. Hader's must have been. The lack of effective treatment in itself is a significant letdown. Not to be taken seriously however, that's where the real damage lies. Elliot can still hear the careful tone of skepticism her doctor has palmed Olivia off with, as he had mentioned her pain "should be manageable" with Vicodin. He might as well have said:

_You're expecting too much. _

_It's not a silver bullet. _

_You are exaggerating, you can't possibly be in as much pain as you want to make me believe. _

Seeing his friend on the sofa, rubbing at her thumb like there's a constant itch, retreating from him once more only makes Elliot more angry. Angry enough to make him consider placing a call with medical council. Probably that would be a waste of his time, though. Hader has done just enough to not look like he neglects a patient by switching her medication.

_Goddamn fucker. _

The visit turns out to have been a waste of time. The only good thing that has come from it is the referral for a specialist for pain management. That is where his focus needs to be, even though Olivia can't see the necessity. And can he really blame her after what has transpired earlier? Who wouldn't be completely disillusioned after practically being told, repeatedly, that it's all in their head? Elliot doesn't believe it. Not for a second. What he's seen last night and today goes beyond psychosomatic symptoms_. _The same goes for the nausea. She does not imagine it, there's more to it. Elliot knows it. He just _knows _it.

As he makes tea, his eyes transfixed on Olivia's fragile frame that's rigid like a statue, he contemplates how he could get her to engage in some sort of activity or conversation. She had assured him before they left that she had slept the entire time until he had found her stalking to her bathroom but she still looks so, so tired. And is it any surprise when last night she had admitted that she can't sleep? She has probably missed months worth of proper, deep sleep at this point, so a few hours can't undo what the pain has robbed her of.

"Hey." Although Elliot's voice is soft Olivia startles. She blinks a few times as he puts a mug of steaming herbal tea on the coffee table. "I made you some tea," he announces the obvious. She swallows and her eyes shift to the hot beverage. While she rubbed at her thumb before, she is now grinding her left with her right, not acknowledging his words or his presence at all, so he reaches out slowly, stills her motions.

"Liv," he breathes out. "You're chafing your skin." Slowly he peels her left hand away, astonished that she lets him. The outside of her right thumb shows a glaring redness. Elliot frowns. Then he gently strokes his thumb over the back of her hand in an attempt to soothe her. Studying her face he doesn't see any signs of recognition to what he's saying so he's changing course in need of some kind of reaction from Olivia.

"I'm going to make an appointment with someone who's better equipped in terms of pain management, okay? I think it's best to do it before the weekend." He knows it can take weeks for someone to see her, especially if it's a doctor that is sought after. At this point Elliot doesn't just want anyone, he wants a goddamn specialist, the very best in their field. Olivia, finally, draws a breath and shakes her head unenthusiastically.

"What's the point?" Her tone is flat. "They're going to switch my meds again? Tell me it's all just in my head?" she mutters. "Or that there's nothing they can do." Accepting things for what they are is much easier than hoping against hope. Olivia has learned that much. It's been almost eight months and she hasn't gotten better. Quite the contrary - she's only gotten worse. Turns out she's defied her prognosis, just not in the way anyone had thought, least of all she herself. Instead of gaining strength she's deteriorating more and more. Giving up the fight is so much easier when she has nothing left to give. Physically and mentally she can't find the strength to dispute with such fragile things as optimism and faith.

"You don't know that, Liv," he says, wishing she would look at him.

"Yes, I do," she argues weakly, her voice cracking.

"Olivia, I am not going to let them do that, do you hear me? I know you are tired. I know it's hard to believe that this time it'll be different, I get it…"

"No, you don't," she chokes out, slamming her eyes shut, every muscle in her face tight.

"Listen to me, I am going to find someone who knows their shit, okay? Hader has no idea what the hell he's talking about. But there's better doctors out there. This is New York City and we have options," he tells her desperately as he sees her shaking her head in an act of defiance. "Just humor me, okay? If you're right then it's… it's just a trip to a doctor's office, a waste of time." It is so much more than that and he knows it, but right now he's ready to try anything if it means Olivia will agree to see another doctor. She might have given up but Elliot needs something to cling to. The momentary silence is overwhelming. Olivia's chin quivers. He is unsure if it's with tears or unspoken words. "Liv… please," he asks. "I need you to do this for me."

"F-fine." Her voice is small and breakable.

Elliot swallows hard, aware that by pleading with her he has used all the pull he has with the woman next to him. He knows he's being a manipulative asshole and he hates it. It's abhorrent. But it's the only way he knows how to convince her when everything else fails, so he takes it. He has no choice but to take it.

"Okay," he releases a breath of relief. "Thank you."

...

The excuse Elliot comes up with to get Olivia to agree for him to stay the night and sleep on the couch is as poor as the one he used to follow Noah's nanny Lucy outside to get a chance to talk to the young woman in private. He succeeds with said excuse only because Olivia is too tired to argue with him. He can see the resignation in her face before she utters her blessing for his request. Knowing he better not push his luck he does his best to get out of Olivia's hair and quietly observes how things are going with Noah.

The boy seems to have recovered from what had transpired that morning, soaking up every bit of his mother's loving attention like a sponge. It is also very transparent to Elliot that Olivia is struggling with the most basic tasks around the apartment. The patience she displays with herself and her son are a mere act. Elliot can sense the frustration lingering underneath Liv's calm and extremely understanding demeanor after telling Noah it is his bedtime and he needs to brush his teeth and put on his pajamas _now_ for the fifth time. Nervousness and embarrassment are radiating off of her and Elliot can feel every glance she throws at him as he pretends to mind his own business up until Noah pulls the same stunt for the sixth time, defiantly telling his mother he doesn't _want _to brush his teeth. He steps in then and tells Noah it is about time to knock it off and do as his mother says. The no more bullshit attitude and air of undeniable authority coming from him straightens Noah out in a second. Olivia however is clearly as pissed as she is relieved when her four-year-old obligingly trudges to the bathroom.

Although Olivia quickly retreats to her bedroom after tucking Noah in, Elliot feels a sense of purpose and comfort from being allowed to stay. Knowing she is just a few steps away means he doesn't have to worry as much as he would at his own place in Brooklyn. Earlier in the afternoon he had placed a call with one of New York's most renowned pain specialists in the and thankfully got an appointment in ten days. Patient reviews he has found online are promising. Dr. Tori Willem-Vasquez has glowing reviews on RateMDs.

'_I saw half a dozen doctors before I found Dr. Willem-Vasquez and it was the first time I didn't feel ignored. She took plenty of time for me despite her full schedule to understand my very complicated problem and offered different options of treatment and referred me to a great physical therapist.'_

'_She answers e-mail, text messages, and calls directly.'_

'_Dr. Willem-Vasquez is the most understanding doctor I have come across in my eighteen years as a professional athlete. She knows about the importance of emotional support needed for patients coming to her with chronic conditions.'_

So far so good. Elliot can only hope that the woman will be as helpful for Olivia.

…

Elliot scans his surroundings as the two SVU detectives wait with him for Rollins to join them. It's funny how a place that used to be so familiar-a cop bar close to the precinct-can make him feel so out of place years later. He no longer is part of this world, but it is still the same. The lonely divorcee at the bar, indulging in the third glass of mediocre bourbon. The small group of detectives celebrating. The haunting desperation that makes two cops in the booth to his left stare into their glasses, reminding him of himself and Olivia years ago. Not a damned thing has changed.

"There she is," the younger detective, Carisi, announces and Elliot's eyes dart towards the door as the blonde spots them at their table. She shrugs out of her jacket as she struts over and slides into the booth next to Sonny.

"Okay, can we get this over with real quick; I've got a sitter on the clock," she says with a southern twang that grates on Elliot's nerves as much as her attitude. _Now what the fuck is her problem_, he wonders.

"Seriously? That's how much you care about Liv? Get this over with real quick?" His jaw is set as his teeth grind the words. "Some friend you are…"

"You wanna judge? That's rich coming from someone who walked out of her life and came back at his convenience," she pushes out humorlessly, eyes holding his. "You wanna talk to me about friendship, take a good look at yourself first, Stabler. And unless you've ever had to afford childcare _and_ a babysitter flexible enough for working after hours in _Manhattan _as a _single parent_ on a _detective's salary,_ I would _kindly_ ask you to shut the hell up. I haven't seen my daughter for more than thirty minutes today because _you _wanted this meeting asap. I am here because of Liv, but I am pressed for time. You got a problem with that, that's your issue."

Amanda shoves her purse into the small space left in between Carisi and her body, her intense ganze not faltering for a second. It's been a long day and Amanda has zero fucks left to give, least of all for the infamously absent Elliot Stabler.

"You don't know the first thing about my-" Elliot starts but Carisi shuts the verbal attack down in an instant.

"Guys, guys, let's not do this. We're all here for Liv, can we agree on that? You two going at each other isn't going to help her. So how about we keep it civil?"

"Fine by me," Amanda says, raising her left eyebrow provocatively at the man with the steel blue eyes. "How about you?" It's almost imperceptible but the blonde doesn't miss how the muscle of Stabler's left eye twitches.

"Absolutely." It's flat and doesn't match the tension in his face at all. Fin's eyes twinkle at the blonde detective, clearly enjoying the hostility Amanda directs at him a little to much, looking like a proud son of a bitch.

Carisi offers to get Amanda a drink, which she refuses, and Elliot starts filling them in on what he witnessed Friday and Saturday.

"I've got her an appointment with a pain management specialist next Monday and Liv isn't thrilled, but at least she's going."

"Well, who can blame her when not even her doctor is taking her pain seriously," Amanda spits in disbelief. "Typical. If that was a man, you bet your ass nobody would tell him it's 'psychosomatic' or 'can't be that bad'."

Elliot gets where Amanda is coming from but right now is not the time to start a debate on misogyny.

"Anyway, what I'm worried about is therapy. I've tried to make her see how important both, PT and psychological treatment are for her but she's…," he shakes his head helplessly. "She's not willing to go. Says it's useless, doesn't help. The harder I try, the more upset she gets. I have no leverage at all when it comes to therapy. If you ask me though? She's slipping into serious depression. There's only so much she's letting me see, but it feels urgent."

"Maybe when you tell her about Noah, what he said and the things he notices she'll have a change of heart. If there's any getting through to her, it's through him, that much I know," Fin suggests.

"I will, I just don't think that's gonna work. Her aversion to therapy runs so deep at this point… I just… I don't know. I hope that the pain management specialist can convince her to pick up physical therapy. That'd be a start. And if she'd be in less pain, then maybe she'd consider going back to see the psychologist as well. She's so consumed by the pain and the constant muscle cramps-," he tries to explain. "I mean, she had five episodes within two, two and a half hours yesterday and they're… they're bad. Some of them…," his voice cracks although he knows this is not the time and place to get emotional.

For the first time Amanda looks at him sympathetically.

"I'm having a hard time seeing it, I don't want to imagine what it's like for Noah. I think he should see a child psychologist. That being said, I wanted to see if we could all work out some kind of schedule for the weekends. Noah needs to get out of the house and Olivia isn't physically able to take him. I know you guys are working a lot, but I think making sure Noah's physically and mentally occupied will take a load off of Liv. I already asked Liv's nanny and she's willing to help out, too."

"Of course," Sonny says without hesitation. "I can take him whenever I'm free, no problem. I'm watching Jesse when Amanda's catching, what's one more, right?"

"I'm in, too," Amanda nods, taking a sip from Carisi's beer.

"Yeah, I'm not so great with small kids," Fin throws in, making everyone's head turn towards him. "What?"

"Just take him to the playground and buy him a popsicle. Jesus, Fin," Amanda rolls her eyes. "It's not rocket science."

"And don't you have a son?" Carisi adds.

"I wasn't the best dad, all right?"

"Well, between the three of us and Lucy, we should be fine," Elliot says, letting Fin, who looks mighty uncomfortable, off the hook. It's not a cheap excuse. Kids Noah's age really _aren't _his strong suit, but he knows Fin will do anything if it means helping Olivia,. "The thing is, Liv can't know we've set this up. If she gets the feeling we're doing this because we think she can't, she's going to have my head. And she won't accept it."

"So we need to make it look like we have Noah's best interest at heart, reason we figured he'd love to come to the zoo and play with Jesse. I think she'd buy that. She knows Carisi is around a lot and helping out, especially when I have to work. It's nothing out of the ordinary. And," Amanda pauses briefly and exhales heavily with a gesture of her hand. "Before the accident we used to do things together, take the kids places. She'd refuse if we invited her to come, but offering to take Noah, suggesting he'd have a blast? She'll go for that."

"I've got this weekend covered. I'm taking my son to Rockaway Beach Saturday, and I'm going to wonder aloud if she thinks Noah would like to come."

Carisi nods. "That's good. That way she'll think it's her decision. She's not being told."

"Well, I wanted to stop by on Sunday anyway. I'll bring Jesse, the kids can play for a couple of hours. I'll mention getting ice-cream to get Jesse to leave, Noah's guaranteed to say he wants some, too. I'll just shrug it off and say he'll have to ask his mom. She's never been good at saying no to that sort of thing," Amanda smiles mischievously. "If the kids happen to want to go to the playground when we're already outside, I can't really help that, can I?"

"Stabler's right though," Carisi cautions them all. "Liv's not stupid. We better not go overboard. Let's not meddle with the weekend after, unless you're there anywhere?" He speaks to Elliot specifically now.

"I plan to be. Not sure if she'll let me. I might have overstayed my welcome this past weekend-used up the very last excuses in the book," he frowns unhappily.

"Rookie mistake," Fin scoffs. "Shoulda known better, Stabler."

Elliot's brows knit defensively. "It's been a shit weekend, Fin. And I haven't seen either of you around. I wasn't going to leave her to her own devices after her Thursday alcohol binge or the crappy doctor's appointment."

"I think Fin was just trying to make a joke," Carisi assuages the animosities.

"Funny," Elliot says dryly.

"Look man, all I'm tryin' to say is… before you're pissin' Liv off? Better include us. I can stop by when you can't. Or when she's making it clear she doesn't wanna see you."

"She'd probably rather have Fin around than any of us, anyway," Amanda snorts. "Lord knows why. Shouldn't she be getting tired of you?"

"That's cause I don't patronize her," Fin says easily. "I haven't worked so well with her for about nineteen years for nothin'. If you wanna be on her good side, you let her drive."

"No offense, but telling her what she wants to hear and taking every 'I'm fine' at face value, has that worked for you? For either of you?" Elliot calls them out. "I know it's uncomfortable to piss her off, and trust me, I've pissed her off plenty, worth a few lifetimes." He sees Fin cock his head in at him in agreement as if he's asking 'You think?'

"But this just proves my point, doesn't it? You guys were completely unaware that she's getting worse in every way. Liv knows how to avoid talking about how she feels. She'd rather jump out a window than admit she needs help. So how about for once we get in the driver's seat? This weekend I wasn't going to leave her alone, even though it was apparent that she wanted me gone."

"You wanna pat yourself on the back some more, Stabler?" Amanda challenges, tired of the man's ego. "We get it. We fucked up, you did it right. Let's keep in mind though that it was you who camped out in front of her apartment to see if she was going to therapy. There's a fine line, so as much as we all want to drive, sometimes it's time to hit the brakes, don't you think?"

Interesting. So Olivia told them that. His face must give his surprise away.

"Don't look at me like that," Amanda rolls her eyes. "She was furious with me for talking to you when she had lied about Noah being sick. Figured you turned me and made me report back to you." Olivia probably still questions whom Rollins' loyalty is with her or Elliot. Like that's even a question.

Carisi, as if he's smelling a threat of impending escalation between his partner and Olivia's former ride-or-die, raises both hands, gesturing at them to take it easy.

"I think all Elliot's trying to say is that we need to work together and not against each other. And if you ask me, he's right. I have all the respect in the world for Liv but in this she's not my Lieutenant, she's my friend. We can't play it safe when she's falling apart. All of us need to push a little harder, for Liv's sake."

"Might not be such a bad idea," Fin chimes in and raises his beer bottle, tipping it to his lips as he looks at Amanda, waiting for her to say something.

"Yeah," she gives in. "Sounds good." For a moment she thinks, then addresses the former SVU detective once more. "Just so you know, if this backfires? I'm gonna rat you out." Her lips tip up with amusement when Stabler's eyebrows shoot to the ceiling, not yet familiar enough with the blonde to read her.

"He's used to being thrown to the wolves, Rollins," Fin fills her in with a twinkle in his eye. "Thing is, he got himself a partner for life who's going to jump into the cage unarmed and drag him right back out. Always has."

"Sounds like a hell of a partner," Rollins grins at Fin.

"You know she is."

"You bet she is," Elliot chimes in thoughtfully and raises his glass. "Here's to Liv."

"First proper thing you've said tonight, Stabler," Amanda pushes, starting to enjoy their semi-hostile banter. "To Liv." She raises Carisi's beer bottle who looks half amused, half annoyed.

"You didn't want a drink, remember?"

"Oh shut up, Sonny. Among all the things we do share this is what you're worried about?" Amanda challenges.

Carisi turns ten shades of red within seconds, causing Fin to drop his head, muttering under his breath. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

"Heard what? Did anybody say anything? No? Me either," Rollins shrugs. "Bummer." She takes another deep drag from the bottle and puts it back down with a hollow thud. "I gotta go. Unless a certain someone's got a problem with that?"

A laugh pushes through Elliot's nose as he shakes his head. He might grow to hate liking her. "No problem whatsoever."

"Good." She glances at the man next to her. "You comin' over or…?"

"Still pretending not to see or hear a thing," Fin glares at them.

"What? A detective can't socialize with their partner now?"

"So that's what they're calling it these days, huh?" Elliot asks Fin, shaking his head.

"You're not one to talk, Stabler," the Sergeant gives back when both Rollins and Carisi are making their exit. "Don't think you didn't give Cragen a headache for years."

"We never…," Elliot doesn't get to finish.

"Might as well have, Stabler. Might as well have."

...

**Chapter End Notes: As always I'd love to hear what you guys think. In my opinion it was about time to get the squad a bit more involved, stressful jobs aside. I hope you're all curious for Dr. Willem-Vasquez. **


	13. Prey

**Notes: Beta'ed by Amilyn. **

**# Amilyn - once again my heartfelt thanks go out to you and your Amilyn-pedia brain and curiosity. I'm so glad to have met you on here! **

**We'll only meet the new doctor in Chapter 14, I didn't want this chapter to be too long and it felt like a good ending point. Anyone who took the time to review publicly and/or through PM - thank you so so much! Emotionally this story is a real challenge (I know some of my dear readers are having a rough time with our beloved Liv to go through such an ordeal and be in that much pain). I'm always happy to hear from you, so keep those reviews and PMs coming. **

...

"You'll be okay? Call me if there's something…"

"I am fine, Elliot," Olivia breathes out quietly as her son puts on her shoes, his dinosaur backpack strapped on his small shoulders. Noah's obvious excitement about going to the beach is uplifting, the realization that it's one more thing she can't do for him, however? That hits her square in the gut and makes her throat tighten. A very short walk to one of the smaller playgrounds in the neighborhood, she can manage that from time to time. Of course, she doesn't like it, always dreading people's looks of pity when they pay attention to the crutch, to the limp. They don't do it often, maybe once a week. More like once every other week, if Liv's being honest. It's tiresome, exhausting, and she can't do the fifteen minute walk without small breaks. But the beach? She couldn't make the trip to Queens if she tried and walking with the sand shifting underneath her, no solid ground beneath her feet? There is no way.

Of course Noah had begged her to come to Rockaway, making the guilt turn to stone in her stomach. Liv had assured him that she'd love to but had things to do. It sounded better than 'I'm sorry honey, but I can't do the trip with my leg.' So they had compromised that she'd walk Noah and Elliot to the car.

She slides her left foot into the loose fit sneaker that Noah pins beneath his small hands, allowing her to push inside with some difficulty. They have started the routine because it is easier for Olivia than walking back to the sofa to sit and put on her footwear. Also Noah's proud to be of help to her. Olivia has come to accept the little things that make daily routines easier. Doesn't mean she likes them.

"Thank you, honey," she says softly, wiggling her left foot a little before she grabs her keys.

"Can we go now?" The little one asks eagerly.

"Yes, we can," Olivia agrees, despite the impulse she feels in terms of checking his backpack once more. They make their way towards the elevator at the end of the hallway, Noah running ahead to push the button.

"He's excited," Elliot states the obvious, gauging how Olivia truly feels about the trip.

"Hm," she only hums around a nod. "Are you sure Eli won't mind?" The last time Olivia had seen Elliot's youngest he had still been a baby. She hardly knows anything about the boy, except the little things Elliot mentions in passing. What she is worried about are things like the age difference between the boys, or crashing Elliot's and Eli's father and son time. The very last thing she wants for her child is to feel like the third wheel, or being met with the other boy's hostility when his dad brings some other kid along to _their_ trip to the beach. And, as an afterthought it comes rolling in, does Kathy know? Does she approve? It would just take the cake if Elliot would get in hot water with his ex-wife over including his ex-partner's son in his daddy-weekends.

"Eli's fine with it, Liv. He's not the Grinch you know," he teases around a smile, matching her slow pace.

"I don't want you to feel like you're obliged to…"

"Yeah, stop right there. I'm not doing this out of some screwed up sense of obligation, Liv. I like Noah. I'm sure he'll have fun, don't make this bigger than it is," Elliot, plays it casual, belying the hidden agenda he has constructed with Fin, Carisi and Rollins. He can see she's grappling with the very idea of it until she gives in.

"Fine," she exhales, as if she could have turned the situation around at this point if she had tried. Between Noah's excitement and her friend's steely determination, who does she think she is to be able to call the trip off? "You are sure you packed the sunscreen?"

"Do you ever not worry?" He asks around an amused chuckle, which earns him a serious glare. "Yes, I'm sure I've packed the sunscreen, Liv. Five kids, remember? I've got this thing down."

Olivia has a hard time biting her tongue because she thinks until he had the thing down, Kathy probably bit off his head a gazillion times. But does she really want to point out how they both know his ex was responsible for things like packed lunches and sunscreen when they were still together. Probably, Liv thinks, she knew way too much. Sometimes it felt like she was the third person in that marriage. God knows how many of Kathy's calls she had answered when Elliot was not at his desk, delivering messages of all his smaller and bigger screw-ups to her partner.

"Right. Sorry," she says, not truly meaning it. Elliot loves his children, but he hasn't necessarily been father of the year. Ever. At least not during their years in SVU. She can't judge on whatever followed after he put his papers in. But back when they had still worked together, Elliot had put the job first too many times.

They step into the small confined space of the elevator and Olivia rests her back against the wall, shifting her weight onto her right foot.

"Can I push the button, mommy?"

"Yes. Which one, though?" They always do this, it's like a ritual between mother and son.

Noah points his finger at the round button with a '1' and a star.

"This one?" He knows it's this one, yet he always makes it question for her to answer.

"Exactly. Good job, Noah." The little boy glows at the praise, grinning from ear to ear as he presses the button, the digit one lighting up. The elevator doors slide shut with a wiry rustle.

Elliot is scrutinizing them, the interaction, Olivia can feel it. It makes the hair on her neck and the small of her back stand up, wondering if he approves, or if he questions her parental abilities at this point. She plasters a small, fake smile on her face, as if that's convincing. She loves her child. She does. But even these small, sweet moments are so, so hard to cherish by now. They hardly bring her joy, which Liv hopes to God Noah isn't picking up on.

The elevator rumbles to life with a small jolt that interrupts Olivia's train of thought.

It's not even ten o'clock but the August heat hits Olivia like a brick wall once she steps outside the air-conditioned apartment complex she lives in. The sun is blinding and the only thing she wants to do is to remind Elliot of sunscreen. Again. She has already put some on Noah when she had decided Noah could go but it's hardly going to do the job for long.

"You got your hat right sweetie?"

"In the backpack," Elliot agrees. There's nothing in there except a small toy, his sunhat, two swim trunks and a long sleeved shirt in case it's 'too windy.'

"Okay. Great," she breathes.

"Car's over there," Elliot tells her and points at the silver vehicle. Luckily it's just across the street, not a two block's walk away.

"Hey, Noah, how about we say goodbye right here? Sounds good?"

"Okay," he agrees with giddy anticipation.

"Alright sweetheart. I need you to be good for Elliot, okay? You listen to what he says, promise?"

"I promise," he says impatiently. "You always just talk and talk and talk." At four, almost five years old, he definitely gets more sassy as the months pass by. Noah is giving her some serious attitude lately.

"Hey young man, I talk because I'm your mother. This is important because if you can't behave, you can't go."

Instantly the little boy stiffens.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, but it sounds conditioned, not heartfelt. Nothing to make you feel like a failure at motherhood quite like the realization that your kid is being disrespectful and is owning it, too. Anything Olivia is going to say is not going to resolve this to her satisfaction, so she thinks she might as well let it slide.

_Fuck. _

"I'll call you when we're on our way back, don't expect him home before five, though."

Nodding, Olivia tucks Noah against right leg and in contrast to his attitude seconds ago his arms wrap around her thigh in a tight, loving hug.

As much as she wants to repeat back to Elliot to please not stay in the aggressive midday sun for too long, to put on plenty of sunscreen and watch Noah closely whenever he's anywhere near the water, she keeps her lips sealed and merely runs her hands through her little boy's soft hair.

"Have fun, sweetie. I'm sure it's going to be a great day."

"I'll send you updates," Elliot smiles, knowing she wouldn't have it any other way. She mouths 'thank you' and Noah untangles from her and grins.

"Now can we go?"

"You've got it, buddy."

"Bye, mom," Noah grins toothily as he starts walking, waving at her.

"Bye, sweet boy. I love you."

With a firm grasp on her crutch she stands and watches them cross the street and get into the car, waving once more before Elliot buckles Noah in the car seat. She is happy for her son and grateful to Elliot for the offer to take him. Noah deserves to be carefree and have fun. He deserve all these childhood joys that come with trips to the beach, running wild. And at the same time she is so sad for her little boy that she can't do these things for him, with him. Not anymore. She is now excluded from these adventures that will help shape his childhood when, undoubtedly, the biggest influence will be living with a physically disabled single parent. So much is taken from Noah because of her injury and pain. Olivia can't help but wonder if his acting up lately are the first signs of ever-growing resentment other than normal childhood development and sudden testosterone boosts causing him to challenge her or throw temper tantrums she had thought they had left behind after the terrible twos...and threes. When Elliot waves at her again, she raises her free hand and waves back, her face painfully tight. Then she turns and lets herself back into the building, not waiting for Elliot to pull onto the street and drive off.

…

"Bye. Bye, Liv. Later…"

The door closes behind Carisi with a thud and, after the bustle and squealing of Jesse and Noah to beat each other to the door, it is suddenly very, very quiet in the apartment. Elliot's gaze rests on her, she can feel his eyes, can envision his expression exactly. She swallows. Breathes in and out. Feels like shit.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing." She's not even angry. How can she be when she sees how much happiness these 'impromptu' trips cause Noah? First the beach, then Amanda taking the kids for ice cream and the playground last Sunday. And now Carisi seriously thinks she'd fall for 'We happened to be in the neighborhood'? Their obviousness is almost insulting. Just because she can no longer work as a cop hardly means she can't put two and two together.

Elliot's footsteps tell her he's walking towards her.

"Look, Liv… we're not trying to…"

"You don't need to explain this to me," comes her exasperated interruption. "God, Elliot." Olivia brings a hand to the top of her head, runs her fingers through her hair until she grabs a bunch and makes a frustrated sound.

She is using his full name a lot these days and he can't get himself to like it. Whatever happened to El? For a moment he allows her frustration to settle.

"You're mad at us."

"I'm not mad," she retorts.

"You're…"

"Don't tell me what I am, Elliot! Okay? That's so fucking patronizing of you to do," Olivia seethes.

Elliot takes the cue and nods once when he sees her anger stems from his treatment of her first and foremost.

"You're not mad at us," he states calmly. "Fine."

"You could at least make an effort to hide it better." Hide it at all, as a matter of fact.

Damn. He knew asking the group if one of them could stop by and get Noah out of the apartment for an hour, so he could talk to Olivia in private, was too much, too soon. Deep down he was fully prepared for it to backfire. So now here they are and there's more than one thing to explain. Except Liv sits right here, worked up, upset, telling him he doesn't need to explain this to her.

"I mean, the last time either Rollins or Carisi have offered for Noah to tag along was probably three, four weeks ago. So going from zero to three separate activities Noah wouldn't want to miss? In less than a week? You really must all think I'm an idiot."

"Today… that wasn't really planned, Liv. There's something I need to talk to you about and Noah shouldn't have to hear. So, I've asked them if someone could stop by to…," again his best effort to fill her in is interrupted.

"You really want to justify your manipulation of me, of this entire situation by yet another manipulation through Carisi? Because what?" For a moment she is speechless, trying to find words to express how that makes her feel. When she can't she changes course. "You can't wait to talk to me until Noah's asleep?"

That is just the thing. He can't. Because he can't be sure that Noah will be asleep.

"Liv, this is not what you think it is," he tries to state calmly. Of course he understands that she's angry, but it doesn't seem to be the help she rejects, it's the lame attempt at manipulation she has suffered through them.

"Do people say that in situations other than getting caught fucking someone they're not supposed to fuck?" She chuckles bitterly. "Do not 'It's not what you think it is' me. I am very aware of what this is. Do you really think I don't see how much Noah needs these… these outings? That he's been happier in the past few days than I've seen him since the accident? That he's calmer? Sleeps better because finally he can get rid of all that pent-up energy he has?"

"You are right. We should have told you. We were worried you wouldn't accept help if we offered it straightforwardly. Not that that's an excuse," Elliot ruefully puts the cards on the table, eyes clouding under her stormy gaze.

"So you thought I'm just about selfish enough to screw with my son, prohibit him from having a good time and catching a break from all this crap," she gestures at her leg. "-in the name of refusing help?" She shakes her head in utter disbelief, wondering if that's the impression she makes on people these days. That of a total, self-centered bitch. Because really, that's what it sounds like, doesn't it? That's what it _feels_ like. And coming from the people who supposedly care about her the most? Well…

"No, we did not. Nobody thinks that." Truthfully? Elliot feels like an idiot. Hurting her, insulting here, none of it had been their intention.

"And yet here we are," she says condemningly, looking at him as her hands sink back into her lap. "You wanted to talk," she reminds him, voice steady but tight.

It surprises him how suddenly she detaches from the situation and changes the subject without blinking an eye. Maybe Elliot should count his blessings, she might as well have told him to leave. He better not push his luck by offering another apology; he's on very thin ice as it is.

Shifting uncomfortably on the sofa, he tries to find a starting point, wondering if she'd prefer a gentle approach or for him to give it to her straight. Just another glance at her makes him decide on the latter. Clear-cut, to the point, no bullshit whatsoever.

"Noah's hears and sees more than you think. On Friday at breakfast he said some things, asked if you were crying again, talked about the leg," he starts, then inhales deeply and releases that breath slowly. "He said he's worried you'd be mad if you knew he's not asleep so I think he's heard things he shouldn't have. Starting with you crying, being in so much pain."

He looks at Olivia, trying to read her. She sits perfectly still, hands folded in her lap, her facial expression blank for a few more moments until she closes her eyes and nods slowly, her breath shaky.

"He asked me if you're going to die."

Liv's face screws up as a sound of distress pushes past her nose. Elliot doesn't need to spell it out for her to know why her son would ask such a shocking question.

_I wish I'd just die. _

"I'm sorry," he says, his hand finding her back, gently stroking it in circles.

Olivia sucks in a breath but it feels the oxygen never reaches her lungs. "Oh God," her whisper scatters in the room, wondering just how scary this must have been for a four-year-old, how she never, _never_, intended for him to hear her say something so disturbing. Noah can't even tell the difference between 'I wish I'd die' uttered in a moment of weakness and desperation, however true it might ring in her lowest moments, and 'I'm going to die'. What is she doing to her child? How did she not _know_ he was awake? How did she never even consider it?

Covering her eyes with her right palm, fingers outstretched with tension from emotional stress she fails to hold back tears.

"I didn't want…"

"I know. I know, honey. Now we can't undo it, but you gotta be more careful with the things you say." While Olivia can't stop the muscle cramps and how she reacts to them, often with cries and groans, talking about death, feeling useless and describing just how much pain she is in, it just can't happen with her son around.

"I'm the worst…"

"Liv…"

"No, I am.. I am the worst mother ever," she cries, shaking her head, trying to wrap her head around everything Elliot has told her. "How did I not… I am supposed to _know_ these things." She is supposed to prevent them, keep her son out of harm's way. Instead she pushes him right in? And Noah hasn't even confided in her, what does that say about their relationship? What does it say about _her_?

She knew that she hasn't lived up to her own parenting standards since the accident-or to what Noah deserves, but she hadn't known she was that bad.

"You are not, Olivia. You are a terrific mother if I have ever seen one. Especially under the circumstances," Elliot tells her firmly.

"No, I am not," she whines and wipes her palm across the slope of her left cheek. "He deserves s-so much better. He's such a great little boy and most of the time I c-can't even see that anymore." Shaking her head she lets her hands sink and looks at her palms. "I used to know when something was wrong. When something was up, when something was not quite right and now I… I am just blind to it? So self-absorbed and b-bitter?" Everything within Olivia tightens, every muscle, every organ, making her feel bruised inside. It is a slow, dull and painful squeeze to her heart that makes Olivia hold her breath.

What has she become? How does layer after layer of the person she used to be get peeled away to leave her raw, exposed and hurting to the point she can't even recognize herself anymore - as a woman, a mother, a human?

The one thing she had sworn herself when she had brought Noah home, as she had held him, cradling _her_ little boy against her chest, breathing in this distinct, wonderful baby smell of his hair, his tiny hand wrapped around her thumb, was that she'd never, under no circumstances whatsoever, become like her mother. Stressed out, on edge, hurtful, blind, neglectful, verbally abusive… physically abusive. But lately, she thinks, she is starting to embody each and every one of those traits that have, in combination, made her own childhood absolute hell sometimes. She may have never hit her son, and he has never been neglected but isn't she on the way down that dead-end road?

Did she really think she could escape what her biography destined her to be? Hasn't it always been the epitome of a self-fulfilling prophecy?

"You are not any of these things, Liv," Elliot murmurs, his face so close to her that she can feel his breath tickle her ear. "As parents we miss things. We don't see everything right away. It makes us human. And this isn't an ordinary situation for either of you. You have so much going on. You can't be so hard on yourself."

"I am going to be just like her," she whispers, voice hoarse. "I'm going to be just like my mother battling this… this pain, my demons, drowning in self-pity." Her hands shake as her haunted gaze meets Elliot's. "Too absorbed in myself to be what my son needs me to be."

"Olivia, stop. You need to stop."

"He doesn't deserve this. Me," she reinforces as tears roll down her face. "He's made a bad deal with me to begin." The adoption agencies she had contacted in 2009 were right. She wasn't equipped to be a mother. They had seen right through her act, had seen past the tough-as-nails, independent, successful NYPD detective attitude. No one in their right mind should have ever entrusted her with a child. Not with her history.

She is bound to hurt those around her, isn't she? Incapable of truly loving or truly trusting anyone but herself because as a child she never got to experience unconditional love, never had a parent to rely on. For years, decades, she'd kept it all bottled up; she had never worked through any of it.

"_You're all bottled up." _

Yeah, Lewis? Lewis had seen right through her. Four days and he had squeezed her deepest fears, every ghost of her past, Elliot included, out of her, juicing her like a lemon.

"_What about you, huh? What are you working through?" _

"I can't," she sobs, hunching over. "I can't do this."

"_I'm onto something, aren't I? Call me what you want but I can always smell a victim." _

"I can't do this to him…" She loves her son, but she is selfish. Because if she'd love him enough, if she'd love him _right_, she'd let him go. Make sure Noah has a fighting chance at a normal life.

"You're not doing anything to him, Liv. Hey, listen," he murmurs, and he can't keep from pulling her against his chest when she looks so very frightened.

"Please, Elliot. You can't let me do to him what my mother did to me," she chokes out past dry lips. "Please." Her hands grab his shirt, fisting the fabric. She can no longer trust herself enough to do the right thing, but Elliot… Elliot she trusts. He won't allow her to fracture Noah's childhood the way her mother's rape and alcoholism fractured hers. Right? So this she needs from him. This one promise to look out for her son when she's in over her head.

The urgency in Olivia's voice makes Elliot sick to his stomach. He had always known that Liv had struggled with a warped self-perception that clearly stemmed from her childhood experiences and knowledge that her existence hinged on an act of abominable violence. But even so, he had failed to comprehend just how deep it must run until now that he is hearing her plead with him to protect her son from her.

Nothing he could possibly say to her will get through to her right now, he knows Olivia that well. So he holds her close to him and rocks her, burying his face in her hair, reassuring her in the only way he can.

"Of course I won't. I promise you, I won't let that happen."

…


	14. Flicker of light

**Notes: So before the weekend an extra long chapter for you guys. I hope you'll enjoy. Beta'ed by Amilyn. **

**...**

**Flicker of light**

The waiting area of Dr. Willem-Vasquez' practice is large and airy. The walls are high and painted white, the floor flagged with oversized beige-marbled tiles that, in Olivia's opinion, are way too shiny. The windows are huge, flooding the entire room with plenty of light. There are no pictures or decorative items on the walls. The seats, all black leather, are comfortable and they scream 'expensive'. It all feels very clean, even with the selection of foliage plants that have been placed around the waiting room.

Irene at the front desk had given Olivia a form to fill out, asking for the usual patient info. She had also explained that this first appointment would take up some time which Olivia figures means they are going to be waiting around a lot. Elliot is unusually fidgety next to her, shifting in his seat every few seconds. There are only two more patients there, a woman in a wheelchair and a teenager with her parents who looks about as excited as Olivia. If this woman is supposed to be a specialist in her field, shouldn't her waiting room be bursting at the seams? she wonders. Not that she has any expectations to begin with.

She has had a terrible night, hardly slept for more than three hours. So, between bursts of pain from muscle cramps, lower back pain she assumes is reinforced by her unsound posture, and constant insomnia Olivia would rather be at home. Alone.

Now, sitting here, she thinks she should never have agreed to go. Damn Elliot and his goddamn savior complex. And damn her for not being strong enough to resist him when he had pleaded and asked her to go, to do it for _him_. He knows which buttons to push all right. Although she had seen through it, she hadn't been able to keep up the wall. Elliot somehow keeps on finding his way in.

When her leg twitches as she's staring at the form, ballpoint at the ready on the paper although she's not yet written a thing, she self-consciously shuffles her right foot in front of the left, trying to give it some stability and hopefully not draw anyone's attention to it. Elliot notices. Of course he notices, when does he not? Apparently he also isn't happy that she hasn't even put her name down because from the corner of her eye she sees him frown at the form.

"Why don't you let me take care of that?" Hesitantly Elliot reaches for the clipboard and by the way he looks at her, it seems he's not quite sure that she is not going to strike him across the head with it. However tempting the thought, Olivia shrugs her shoulders a little and lets him have it. It'll give him something to focus on besides her, which sounds like the break she wants.

A few minutes later a male nurse walks towards them. He's wearing light blue scrubs and has a smile that rubs Olivia the wrong way because it implies she is expected to play nice. God, she really does not want to do this, she thinks, reaching for her crutch, which won't steady her emotions any more than it steadies her gait.

"Hi," he says easily, directed at both Liv and Elliot. "Olivia?" His voice is deeper than she would have expected, definitely more pleasant than that dimply smile he is now directing at only her. He waits until she nods her confirmation.

"My name is Allen and I'll be your nurse today." He squats down in front of Olivia, hands folded, elbows on his thighs. "I thought maybe you'd like to know what to expect today." Well, at least he doesn't have a stick up his ass, so that's something.

"Okay." She isn't very committed to this visit and her tone reflects that. She can feel Elliot's eyes on her.

Allen unfolds his hands and gestures at a hallway to his right. "At first I'd like to take you to one of our exam rooms. Dr. Willem-Vasquez likes to do complete bloodwork, so I hope you don't mind needles."

She couldn't care less and makes an effort not to sigh. "That's fine."

Allen nods and explains some more about procedures in the practice. Elliot pays close attention while Olivia lets the words wash over her, not really caring what all is said. She knows the drill by now, doesn't she? These things work the same way no matter where you go.

"I'd like to take you to the exam room now, you're welcome to come if that's what you both have decided," he says to Elliot as he gets back up to stand, then directs Olivia once more as she too gets up on her feet slowly. "We have chairs if that's more convenient for you," he offers and Olivia isn't quite sure what he is saying.

"Chairs?" She asks.

"Wheelchairs," Allen clarifies. In an instant Olivia feels nauseated, more so than she does anyway. She has a crutch. So clearly she can _walk_. The mere insinuation that somehow she can't is upsetting her so much that she trembles.

"I'm fine," she says with more forcefulness than necessary. The nurse clearly picks up on his patient's annoyance but he doesn't seem too bothered as he's speaking calmly to her.

"That's great. I didn't mean to insult you, it's just that we have many patients who can walk just fine but prefer a chair anyway. It can be easier to get around, especially with chronic pain." He starts to lead the way, adjusting to Olivia's speed as she's limping along, glaring at Elliot like it's his fault that she is taking the suggestion of using a wheelchair personally. Her ex-partner seems a little lost. Allan leads them into a room that couldn't be more different from what she's used to from Dr. Hader's practice. It's spacious, at least in comparison to the usual tiny cubicles, and there's no exam table that's going to be a pain in the ass to get up on. Instead there is a leather recliner chair in one corner, an instrument table with the necessary medical equipment next to it. The room is much warmer than the waiting area, much more comfortable. There is art on the terracotta-painted walls and the window is adorned by heavy drapes. Across from the patient's recliner there is a matching two-seater couch and a small table that holds a carafe of lemon-infused water and glasses. Olivia thinks if there was a TV set they might as well be in a small living room.

Allen asks Olivia to have a seat on the recliner chair and excuses himself for a moment.

"He seems nice," Elliot offers, taking the crutch she has nowhere to lean against, as Olivia sits down and leans back.

"He's an ass," she mutters underneath her breath, quite unforgiving after the guy's comment about the wheelchairs. This entire thing was one big mistake but she isn't about to make a scene and leave.

"He's only trying to be helpful, Liv," Elliot interjects.

"Well, he isn't, okay," she spits angrily, then closes her eyes. She is frustrated, yes. But she shouldn't snap at Elliot every chance she gets. She has done quite a lot of it on the way here, already. At first because he was too chatty, then because he had missed a parking space and they had to walk an entire block. He is struggling with her mood, she can see it clearly. Wearily she sighs and rubs a hand across her face. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," he shrugs, making his way over to the sofa. As frustrated and jaded as Liv is, he wishes she could see this as a chance rather than a nuisance.

Allen returns and draws blood (turns out he's good with needles, he hits her vein on the first try when usually nurses need several attempts) and takes her blood pressure. Surprisingly he doesn't hold a pain scale under her nose and asks her about pain intensity or what she's here for, exactly. Unfortunately Olivia doesn't get to avoid the scales she hadn't even noticed in the left corner of the room. She has lost weight again. Allen doesn't know that. Although he must be aware that at her height she is definitely underweight he shows no visible reaction / aversion to the numbers whatsoever and Olivia thinks that it's the first time someone is non-judgemental about her current weight. Elliot looks worried but at least he's not cursing under his breath this time, making her feel like shit.

When she steps down her leg twitches as a warning, then the cramp hits before she reaches the recliner. Allan, wordlessly, helps her into the chair. Olivia resents him for it but suspects she might not have made it on her own. It's one of the more painful episodes, the ones that make tears well in her eyes. Helplessly she hisses as the spasms tormenting her before she sucks in a breath and tries to hold it. Her body goes rigid as Olivia battles the pain with her eyes closed, giving it her very best effort to suffer through it quietly.

"Olivia, I know it's hard but I need you to try and breathe," Allen starts. "It's going to hurt a little less and pass sooner if you don't tense up like this. Breathing will help your muscles to relax," he says, his voice gentle but also matter-of-fact.

When she groans Elliot steps closer, too but Allen raises his hand, wordlessly asking him to stop and not say anything.

"All that tension makes you focus your energy on the pain and fighting it, which will make it worse, okay? So slow, deep breaths."

If she had the energy she'd snap at him to shut the hell up, because what does he know? All the well-intentioned advice in the world can't help her in this moment.

"Take a breath, Olivia. A slow, deep breath."

"God," she cries out from pain and frustration with the male nurse, hitting the back of her head against the rest of the recliner chair, trying to shut him out.

"It may suck to hear this but God's not going to help you right now so look at me," he says once, then repeats it more forcefully, which finally takes effect since Olivia opens her eyes. "Breathe. Now," Allen says with a slow nod. "Take a deep breath from your belly," he guides her and does it with her, nodding at her when a few seconds later she joins in and draws a breath. "And out. You've got this, you are in control of this," the male nurse assures her. "In…," he counts to three in his head. "...and out."

The breaths Olivia takes are shaky and shorter than they are supposed to be. Sometimes the pain causes her to groan or whimper but she focuses on Allen as best as she can and finds that it does help a little bit. It's still excruciating, however.

When it finally passes Olivia nearly crumples in the chair and Allen wordlessly walks to the table by the sofa, pours some water and offers it to Olivia. She accepts it and takes a sip as she recovers, unsure how to feel about how the guy had just talked to her.

"Do you treat all your patients like that?" she asks eventually.

"Not all of them," he says. "I didn't mean to be disrespectful but I needed your attention. Breathing techniques can go a long way with chronic pain patients."

Olivia wants to tell him it's a load of crap, but, well, it has helped. Not much, but she felt slightly less helpless. She worries her bottom lip, refusing to admit as much.

"We can help you with that, you know? Breathing techniques, meditation techniques."

So basically he's saying it's all in her head, too, Liv thinks. Great. That's what she's come here for, isn't it? For more of the same shit she's heard since the accident. When she stays silent and sits up the nurse explains that the doctor is going to see her shortly, the blood work will be sent to a lab, and they should have the results within one or two days. He leads them to the next room that has a patient couch, a desk and two leather chairs in front of it, the same model as in the waiting room.

The silence here fills Olivia with dread. There are no machines in this room, no medical equipment as far as she can see, making her wonder where the hell she is and what good any of this is going to do? Elliot hadn't shut up about the doctor's glowing reputation and patient reviews on some medical site. So far, blood sampling aside, this feels more like one rest area after another at a mediocre spa. The wall clock reads 11:25, telling her they have been with Allen for about twenty minutes, which is probably ten times the amount she spends for the routine at Dr. Hader's office.

"Do you feel okay?" Elliot asks as they have taken their seats in front of the desk.

Glancing at him Liv almost grumbles at him that she's nauseous, dead-tired and in pain. Okay is not the first thing that comes to mind.

"Yeah," she offers instead, wondering how much longer this is going to take. "She is a real doctor, right?" She then asks, thinking she should have read the sign-board as they entered the premises of the practice.

"Yes, of course," Elliot assures. "She's an orthopedic surgeon," he tells her, instantly making Olivia think she can't be that good if she's doing pain management now.

"You sure? Because this rather looks like… I don't know… some place that practices alternative medicine. If they are going to tell me my chakras are not aligned… or whatever-," she warns him. She has a very low threshold for bullshit these days.

"Liv, I know this place is not what you're used to but maybe that's a good thing."

"They teach meditation techniques, Elliot," she whispers under her breath. "This just doesn't seem like a good id-," as the door opens she stops. Dr. Willem-Vasquez is a short woman with dark eyes and dirty blonde hair that's loosely tied. Stepping in, she closes the door and walks over with her outstretched hand, greeting Olivia first.

"Hello Olivia, I'm pleased to meet you. My name is Tori Willem-Vasquez," she shakes Olivia's hand, then Elliot's. "Welcome."

"Elliot Stabler," he offers. The female doctor checks with Olivia, if it is all right that the man is in the room with them before she walks around the desk and sits down, reaching for a notepad and a ballpoint pen. When her patient agrees Elliot thanks her for making time for them.

"You're very welcome," she says, then directs her attention at Olivia. "So, Olivia, can you tell me what you're here for?"

Olivia clears her throat quietly and thinks. "I… um…" She feels put on the spot. Talking about what's bothering her never gets easier it seems.

"Why don't you start with the diagnosis that brings you here," the Doctor helps out and Olivia nods, giving an account of the accident and her subsequent treatment so far. Dr. Willem-Vasquez listens intently and takes notes. By the time Olivia gets to her last visit with her physician the woman frowns, especially when Elliot explains he switched the Vicodin for Tramadol.

"Tramadol?" Dr. Willem-Vasquez brings into question, exhibiting a surprised facial expression that shows she clearly doesn't agree with the decision.

Olivia nods and adds that he has prescribed something for the nausea as well but that until now she has stuck to the Vicodin.

"That's good, actually," the doctor encourages, not impressed with her colleague's choices. "To be honest, I don't see why anyone would prescribe Tramadol when Vicodin doesn't help manage the pain," she explains. "Which it should," she adds thoughtfully.

There it is, Olivia thinks, starting to worry her lip as she stares at her lap rather than trying to hold the Doctor's eye. The shift in the atmosphere must be palpable and Olivia sighs quietly, her shoulders sagging under the weight of the other woman's words.

"Let's cut this short, you're telling me to stay on the Vicodin and there's nothing much you can do, right?" Her voice cracks a little but in a way this is good. Now even Elliot will have to face where they stand, that this entire thing is hopeless with a capital H.

"No, that's not what I'm telling you at all, Olivia. That's just the thing. The Vicodin should make your pain somewhat manageable. If it doesn't that means that there's something wrong. Also with your nausea," she says and Olivia looks up at the doctor as if she's seen a ghost. Elliot, next to her, releases a breath of relief that sounds like a victory. Olivia isn't used to a doctor, a specialist in medicine, taking her symptoms seriously, so this is shocking. It makes her face flush with heat and her palms sweaty. As the woman keeps talking Olivia's heart races.

"There's a few things I'd like to do. For one I want to review your medical file from the hospital including MRIs, X-Rays, surgery reports. You need to request them, usually formally in writing."

Olivia, still stunned, simply nods, trying to follow.

"Also I'd like to examine your leg if that's okay with you."

"Can that be done today?" Elliot asks, hoping there will be more progress than Olivia's pain being taken seriously although that alone is a lot of progress.

"I'd like to that right now," Dr. Willem-Vasquez agrees. "Just to get a better idea of the extent of your injury and how much muscle you have left. Based on that we might be able to put together a treatment plan, involving physical therapy. I think it is important that you pick that back up but we'll talk about it in detail next time."

"What about the nausea?" Elliot presses on.

"I'll get to that," she slows Elliot down.. "I suggest we take another MRI of the entire leg. I want to look at the tissue, examine any scar tissue that has formed, see how much muscle is left, take a look at the tendons and ligaments, see how they are faring. You mentioned lower back pain, so just to be sure I'd do an MRI of the lower back, too. You're only using one crutch, may I ask why?"

Olivia blinks, the question throwing her off. For a moment she stammers. "I...um… it's….erm… the… the pain. When I use both crutches I get terrible backache."

"All right," the doctor nods and writes that down. "If you're ready I'd like to examine your leg," Dr. Willem-Vasquez suggests and stands up as Olivia nods but when she feels Olivia's hesitance and an insecure glance at her companion the woman addresses Elliot. "If you'd give us some privacy, that'd be great."

"Oh, uh… sure," he agrees and wipes his hand across his mouth. "I'll be outside then," he says to Olivia clumsily. He shouldn't be surprised that she doesn't want him in the room for it.

_Could've thought of that, Stabler._

Elliot makes a quick exit as Liv gets up and limps to the patient couch, awfully aware of the doctor's close observation of her gait.

"We definitely need to work on your posture, that tilt of your upper body is going to give you serious problems otherwise."

Olivia, unaware of how they are supposed to work on it simply nods, because what is she supposed to say?

"All right. Can you take off your pants and socks and lie down, please? I'd like to take a look and get a basic feel of the leg," Dr. Willem-Vasquez explains. Olivia, with some difficulty, follows the woman's lead. While she once used to take so much pride and care in her appearance she now realizes she hasn't shaved in months - and she doesn't even care.

"You tell me when you're ready," the doctor assures Olivia as she is going to battle with her nerves, trying to breathe in and out calmly, tension visible on her face. Briefly she closes her eyes. It's been a while since she's last been to physical therapy but just remembering how much pain it always caused her makes Olivia hesitate.

"I'm ready," she says, trying to reassure herself more than giving the blonde woman the go.

"Okay, Olivia," Dr. Willem-Vasquez says, her voice soothing. "I'm just going to start with some palpation of the lower leg. I like to work with a sort of traffic light system so if there's any pain that's easily manageable for you, that's green, I don't necessarily need you to acknowledge that. If it hurts and the intensity is giving you trouble that's orange. If it feels like you can't take it…"

"Red," Olivia assumes quietly.

"Exactly. I'm going to give you a break, if I can but I might have to keep going if there's something that seems off or needs closer examination, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," she agrees, not feeling as ready as she wants to make the doctor believe. Just feeling the other woman's warm hands on the front her left lower leg causes Olivia's stomach to plummet. The skin on her back gets clammy, her hands ball into fists.

"I'm going to start right here," Dr. Willem-Vasquez lets her know, using her thumbs and fingers to palpate the tibial tuberosity, working her way down the shaft and either side of the shaft before checking for any laxity in the ankle joint.

"So far so good," she says, then slowly and gently bends her patient's knee so Olivia's foot is is flush against the bench. "I'm going to palpate the musculature now. I'm going to be looking for any tenderness, any spasm." Starting at the top of the knee she checks both heads at the gastrocnemius muscle. Using a light touch at first Olivia easily breathes through it but once she digs in deep, reaching the soleus, Olivia groans and closes her eyes.

"Alright, I need you to talk to me here, Olivia."

"Hmmm," she hums, voice strained. "O-orange."

"Good." She digs in deeper and at the same time focuses on her patient's face. "Try to breathe evenly."

As much as she tries, Olivia can't manage to draw a breath, fearing the moment she stops fighting against the harrowing touch she is going to scream. It just hurts so fucking much, she could go up the wall. Instead of uttering 'red' she groans, hoping she'll last until it's finally over. When those hands finally ease up on her muscle, it's sweet relief.

"Okay, just breathe, Olivia. Let's take a break for a second. Next I'd like to check flexibility and strength." However necessary it is for them to move on, Dr. Willem-Vasquez waits for some sign of consent that finally comes seconds later with a nod.

"You're doing great," the other woman assures.

Olivia makes a non-committal sound that suggests she doesn't agree with that assessment, not by her own standards at least.

"When I press against your leg, don't let me move it," the doctor instructs, holding her hand on the outside, then the inside, of Olivia's knee. She presses inward, repeating the procedure on the right leg to have a point of comparison. Next she puts the ankle through its mobility, murmuring a few reassuring words after the respective steps.

Olivia grunts and groans when the pain peaks, unable to stop from crying out with the thoroughness of the exam when she can no longer take it.

"Fuck," she says shakily, clutching her hand to her forehead when finally Dr. Willem-Vasquez gives her a break. Olivia feels as weak and defenseless as an infant, which is just pitiful. Where the hell is the strength she used to possess both, physically and emotionally, the resilience? There is nothing she wouldn't give for a hundredth of that vitality right now.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes unsteadily, firmly pressing her lips together once the words are out. Her left lower limb feels like it's on fire and Olivia knows that this is most likely not over yet. The thing is, Olivia is not positive that she is going to be able to take any more.

_Don't cry. You can't cry now. Get it together. _

"Olivia, you don't need to apologize," the blonde woman reassures empathetically. "You are doing great." Waiting a few beats she continues. "You don't have a lot of length in the muscles in your left leg. Not a lot of flexion or extension in the ankle, either," the doctor explains matter-of-factly.

There is the slightest nod of Olivia's head. She didn't need to hear it to know it. When the doctor reaches out to squeeze her hand in sympathy, she almost cracks, no matter how much she tries to cling to a shred of dignity.

"I'd like to do a very brief standing test," Dr. Willem-Vasquez lets Olivia know, waiting for a reaction that comes after a moment in the form of a nod. Olivia sits up and the blonde woman explains what exactly she would like to see from the brunette. What sounds easy, picking the knee straight up while standing on her right and then left foot respectively, turns out to be an impossible task. Despite the doctor holding Olivia's hands for balance, she can't hold the position standing on her right leg for more than a few seconds, which clearly gives the doctor pause. On her left leg Liv doesn't succeed at all, her leg buckles instantly and she gasps as the pain curses through her lower limb. She collapses against the lip of the patient couch and the doctor helps her to sit.

"Okay, that's it, I think I've seen enough. You can get dressed. I still have a few questions, though," she informs and gives Olivia some privacy, turning her back towards her patient to sit down at the desk to take notes. Only when Olivia sits down in her chair, leaning the crutch against the deks the blonde looks up.

"Are you feeling okay? Is there anything you need?"

"I'm fine." Clearly there is nothing that's going to make the pain better and she is expecting a lot more of it for the rest of the day and possibly all night. Short spasms make Olivia's calf twitch which is probably why the doctor is asking in the first place.

"Okay. So, Olivia… since your injury," Dr. Willem-Vasquez starts curiously. "Has anything changed? About your health, your body, movement - anything you can think of? Is there anything at all? Anything can be of help."

Olivia looks at her quite stunned because the question would be easier to answer if she had asked what hasn't changed. Tears prick in the brunette's eyes, and she wills them away. Drawing in a shaky breath through her nose, Olivia works her mouth, trying to find the right words.

"Everything is… different."

"Okay. Can you elaborate on that?"

"Erm... ," Olivia hesitates, blowing out a breath. "I um… I've lost weight."

"How much? Just so I can get an idea of what things were like before you got injured."

Closing her eyes, Liv shakes her head, trying to do the math. "Maybe… twenty-five, twenty-six pounds? I'm not sure." She watches the doctor jot it down.

"And that's because of the nausea? Do you eat?"

"I'm trying. It's worse after I've eaten so it's small portions."

"I see. I'm not sure what exactly causes the nausea. It could be pain-related, could be the medication. To rule out the latter, I'd like to take you off the Vicodin and give you a shot of another compound that will hopefully give you some relief regarding your pain."

At this point, relieving her pain is unimaginable so Olivia doesn't get her hopes up. "Okay. So, you think that's going to… help?"

Doctor Willem-Vasquez looks at Olivia sympathetically and puts the ballpoint down. "Truthfully? I don't know. But I think it's worth a shot."

That doesn't sound promising, but Olivia tries to keep her face impassive. At least the new doctor doesn't even try to bullshit her with false promises or the idea that all this pain and nausea is psychosomatic; Olivia respects the other woman for that.

"Okay, the nausea, weight loss, we have determined you are in constant pain, there are muscle cramps. What else?"

"Insomnia. I hardly sleep." It's like she's checking off a list.

"Did your previous doctor prescribe something for that?"

"I didn't ask him to. I'm worried that I won't be alert. I have a four-year old."

"Okay, that's understandable."

"Um… my… I can't concentrate."

"Elaborate?"

"I really can't focus on anything for long if at all. Like… a couple of months ago I tried to read a book. I put it down a few pages in. Nothing registered. Long conversations are hard," she adds, clearing her throat. "Sometimes I zone out, it's like I'm… standing beside myself."

"Are there any patterns to this? Particularly sleepless nights? Bad pain days? Type or amount of pain medication?"

"If there are...I haven't noticed. But then, I'm not noticing much lately."

"Is there anything that you've found helps with the pain or the spasms?"

Shaking her head no, Olivia starts wringing her hands. "Uh-uh. I've tried icing it. I've tried erm… heat. Soaking. It either does nothing or it gets worse." She sighs and scratches her neck nervously. "Sometimes it feels like _everything_ hurts."

"What do you mean by everything?"

"Just… everything. Every part of my body and I can't… I can't even describe it. I don't know what it is…"

"Can you locate it? If I'd ask you to pin-point where that pain that makes everything hurt originates could you tell me?" The woman squints at her patient, trying to get to the bottom of the problem.

Olivia, looking lost, worries her bottom lip. "My back maybe?"

"Your upper back? Lower back?"

"I'm really not sure."

"Okay," the doctor nods and writes it down. "Only a couple more questions. What kind of social activities are you engaging in?"

Glancing down at her hands that are now folded again, the nail of her right thumb scraping against the pad of her left thumb, Liv's face contorts with the sad fact that she doesn't engage in any social activities. Her new doctor seems to pick up on it instantly as she's adding something to her notes.

"I'm not… leaving the house much," she admits. "When I have to, I take my son to kindergarten."

"By foot?"

"Cab," Olivia breathes. "It's three blocks I…," Olivia struggles, feeling defeated.

"That's okay. So, how many blocks can you walk before you need to take a break?" The doctor wants to know to get a better feel for the extent of the injury and her patient's subsequent pain management issues.

"One? On a good day. I try to take my son out sometimes but-" she shrugs, unable to keep on talking. Seeing Dr. Willem-Vasquez nod at her once shows Olivia she doesn't necessarily need to explain.

"That sounds very isolating, Olivia," the other woman says empathetically, which Olivia shrugs off with a small sound.

"All right, last question. Do you engage in any sexual activity?" The question is met with a snort that probably translates to 'Are you kidding?'

"I take that as a no," the doctor assumes but looks at her patient for confirmation.

"Not like anyone would want me like this," she gestures at her lower limbs. "But… no. I'm glad when I make it from one minute to the next so sex is…"

_Low self-esteem,_ Dr. Willem-Vasquez adds to her notes. "I get it," she says quickly.

"Your companion, are you involved?"

"Elliot's a friend."

"That's great. I understand that he made this appointment for you?" This she knows from a note Irene from the front desk had left in her schedule.

Rubbing her forehead Olivia nods her head yes. "He wanted me to see someone else for the pain since my previous doctor… I don't know," she sighs. "... hasn't been very helpful. El's... he can be pushy."

"I hardly noticed," the other woman says around a smile. The man had requested a lot of her input as Olivia talked about her initial injury through the car accident, the surgeon's suggestion that amputation might be in her best interest, and the subsequent chronic pain following the emergency surgery. "But sometimes pushy is good," Dr. Willem-Vasquez assures. "The concept of pain, being in pain, it's all very complicated. And it's absolutely understandable that you've been feeling let down, helpless, misunderstood or medically neglected. I see it all the time. I wish more of my colleagues would understand how important immediate pain management and finding the cause of any pain is to the patient. I wish they'd be as dedicated to getting to the bottom of chronic pain as they are about acute pain. So, we are going to take a close look at everything, okay? I'd like to speak to you about how we'll proceed until your follow up appointment." She now turns to her computer screen for the first time, opens a program and starts to type. "Do you want me to get your friend so we can go through it together?"

While Olivia doesn't like to come off helpless she nods. It might be beneficial to have someone there with her who's high alert, just in case she doesn't retain the information.

Dr. Willem-Vasquez opens the door and finds the man in the hallway, leaning against the wall with his head tilted towards the ceiling. His jaw is clenched tightly, making the mentalis muscle in his chin jump. In an instant he straightens and regards the woman; the tension visibly falls away when the doctor delivers him from this nerve-racking wait.

"You can come back in," she offers kindly and Elliot, trying to catch a glimpse of Olivia as he pushes off the wall, steps back inside the office. Upon entering he finds Liv in the chair, looking ten times worse than when he had left. Her eyes are bloodshot, her face flushed with exertion. The rooms must be well-isolated. He has hardly heard a thing except one single, muffled sound that might have been a cry. It was there and gone, screwing with Elliot's head so much that he no longer knows what he has heard.

Sitting back down, they wait for the doctor to take a seat as well, watching how she folds her hands on top of her desk.

"Okay, Olivia. So as I already mentioned there are a few things that are worrying me. Let's start with your mobility. A limp, to a certain extent, is to be expected with your injury. However, in my opinion it shouldn't be as severe, and neither should the pain, not when you're on Vicodin, which, if I might add, isn't great to begin with, seeing hydrocodone activates the same neuroreceptors as opiate drugs such as heroin. There is the risk of developing a dependence, which is actually not uncommon in long term users. The nausea might be a side effect of the medication, so to rule that out, I want to try something and give you a shot today, which I hope will give you some relief. It should wear off within six to eight hours," the blonde woman explains to them. "I want you to try these samples of Percocet for twenty-four hours," she continues and goes through one of her locked drawers, retrieving a small orange bottle holding a few pills. "Just to make sure your pain won't get worse or you still have nausea. I'll give you a script, if Percocet helps, fill it then."

She looks at Olivia, wanting to know she understands, continuing on only when Olivia nods her head in agreement.

"Right now Irene is booking an appointment for an MRI of your leg and lower back. We're working closely with the orthopedic practice here in the building: they are on the floor above and fully equipped. Once we've reviewed the labs and MRI, I'd like to discuss a treatment plan with you, involving medication and physical therapy. But for now I really want to focus on the nausea. A twenty-five pound weight loss within seven, eight months? That's troubling for someone who wasn't overweight to begin with. So the short term goal is for you to maintain weight and not lose any more strength due to malnutrition. We also need to find an explanation for the amount of the severe pain you are in so we can hopefully improve that. Long term I'd really like to see if physical therapy can help you regain some flexibility in the muscle, more extension in the ankle, basically give you back some of your mobility."

Elliot listens intently, and while it doesn't seem like nearly enough, because it doesn't sound like her pain is going to be any more manageable on the new meds, he counts his blessings. Dr. Willem-Vasquez is at least doing _something_. And hoping for a quick fix had probably been too much to expect. Deep down he had known it couldn't possibly be that simple.

"What if…," Olivia starts, clearing her throat. "What if the new drugs don't help with the nausea?" The mere idea of not feeling nauseated 24/7 is inconceivable. She doesn't count on it working at all.

"Then we'll have to keep trying, maybe start to think outside the box. But let's not cross that bridge quite yet. Try the Percocet. If it doesn't help at all, just leave a message for me with Irene, that'll give me enough notice until our next appointment for me to research what else I can suggest," she says around a smile, looking at her computer as something pops up highlighted in red. "...we'll schedule a follow-up for next Monday? Does eleven o'clock work for you again?"

"Yes. Yes," Elliot says quickly, before Olivia gets the chance to even process.

"I guess," Olivia then agrees, knowing he will insist on taking her. She wonders just how much time off he's willing to take for her just for doctor's appointments.

"Great. And I have an appointment for the MRI for you on Thursday. It's at 5:30 am in Dr. Chappell's office on the 6th floor. I insisted they squeeze you in, so a delay is possible."

"Uh… can I get back to you about that? I have to talk to my sitter first," Olivia starts, not sure, if Lucy will be available this early in the morning.

"We'll make it work," Elliot tells her, then looks at Dr. Willem-Vasquez. "We'll take the appointment."

"Elliot," Olivia starts wearily.

"We'll work something out, Liv. This is more important than getting the green light from Lucy first. I'll have Liz watch him if all else fails."

"I'm inclined to agree with your friend, Olivia. I'd like to get this done sooner rather than later. And it might be as much as a month otherwise."

Thinking about it, Olivia finally agrees, although all of this is worrying her more than it reassures her. Because what if whatever the new doctor tries fails, too? Getting confirmation that there is absolutely nothing left for them to try is going to kill her… one way or another.

"Fine."

"Great. Allen is going to be here shortly and give you that injection, and I'll see you next week, okay?" The doctor gets up and shakes Olivia's hand, then Elliot's.

"Thank you so much," Elliot thanks her, shaking with both hands.

"You're very welcome," she assures, then regards Olivia once more. "Good luck with Percocet, I'll keep my fingers crossed."

While Olivia has never had a professional speak to her like that, hearing them say they will keep their fingers crossed, it almost makes Olivia believe the woman cares about her prognosis.

"Thank you," Olivia says before Dr. Willem-Vasquez leaves the room.

Not surprisingly Elliot, like a leech, hardly waits until the door closes to start interrogating her. "So, what do you think?"

It's exhausting. Elliot is exhausting, his constant need to try and get her spirits to rekindle is grating on her nerves.

"I don't know, Elliot. Let's just wait and see. We don't even know if the medication is going to work."

"Liv, she's done more for you today than anyone has in the past eight months. I think if there was ever a time to be faintly optimistic, this is it."

Her eyes slip closed for a moment as she tilts her head back, pleading with whatever deity is going to listen to please, please make him stop talking about being optimistic.

"I'm out of optimism right now. Can we just… not assume things will be fine?"

"Liv…"

"Because we don't know that. I asked if she thinks the medication she prescribed will work and she said she doesn't know. Okay? She doesn't know. We don't know. I just wanna get this over with and go home," she says quietly and breathes into the room, head still tilted at the ceiling.

He's anticipated more but she doesn't have any more to give right now. It's not that she is intentionally being ungrateful, just…

"Okay," he gives in.

Allen returns not a minute later. Olivia is about as pleased to see him as she had been when she first met him earlier. The shot is quick and with as much pain as she is used to, she doesn't even notice the prick of the needle in her buttock, he might as well just have pretended to have given her a shot.

Within fifteen minutes the drug works miracles. While Olivia isn't pain-free she is in considerably less pain than she was in before the shot, especially after the examination of her leg. For the first time in a long time it feels what she figures the doctors mean by 'manageable.' It's more of a dull, constant ache, nothing compared to the sharp pangs that peak whenever Olivia is having tremors and muscle cramps. And for a moment she thinks she loves Allen, the nurse, the bearer of effective drugs.

**End Notes: So, this sounds promising, doesn't it? How do you like Dr. Willem-Vasquez? More importantly, how do you like Allen? Let me know ;) **

**Everyone that's celebrating: Happy Thanksgiving next week. **


	15. Words Like A Knife

**Notes: Trigger warning: This chapter deals with self-harming behavior and displays of depression. Amilyn, once again, has done a wonderful job of beta'ing and supporting. Again: mind the trigger warning. Feedback is highly appreciated. Ready? Here we go. **

**...**

Words wash over Olivia like a drizzle in the fall. Very little registers with her as she is pushing her food around on her plate. Rollins is saying something about Jesse and an appointment... or so she thought.

"Liv?"

"Sorry, what?" Wearily she rubs her left temple, trying her best to focus on the blonde detective. For a moment the other woman is nothing but a blur in Olivia's vision.

"Your next appointment, when is it?" Amanda is concerned by how distracted Liv is, although she is supposedly better on the new drugs. While the nausea is gone, the pain is just a little better. At least that's what Elliot said after she'd switched the medication a few days ago.

"Monday." It comes without much enthusiasm. Olivia has had the MRI on Wednesday. Upon seeing Amanda's gaze shifting between her face and her plate, Olivia scoops some of the mashed potatoes onto her fork. She's no longer nauseous on Percocet but she doesn't have much of an appetite. It seems her body has gotten used to functioning with very little food. Olivia's stomach hasn't caught up with everyone's expectations of how much she is supposed to eat. That she is supposed to eat at all.

Elliot is nagging her every chance he gets and watches her macros like a hawk, making sure she's having a balanced intake of carbs, protein and fats. It's not even been a week and she starts feeling like she's Hansel and Elliot's the wicked witch, trying to fatten her up. She's putting things in her mouth for the sake of peace. In case Amanda reports back to Elliot, which Liv fully expects she will, she takes a bite. She used to love mashed potatoes but these days everything tastes bland.

"You feelin' any better with the new meds?" Rollins doesn't want her to know that Elliot keeps them updated. Or that he is the specific reason she's keeping a close eye on how much Olivia is eating for their impromptu lunch. She can see now what Elliot means about Liv slipping into depression. Amanda knows that a few months ago Olivia was never ecstatic about seeing her, but the last few times they've seen each other or talked on the phone, Liv hasn't even tried. She doesn't seem to care about company or conversation.

"The nausea is better," she shrugs and forces herself to another bite. "Pain's so-so," she adds reluctantly. Overall she is pretty sure it is better, too. What's getting worse however is the amount of tremors and subsequent cramps, so it's hard to objectively tell how much Percocet is doing in terms of pain management. It's not sufficient, that's for sure. For about two hours after she's taken her pills it's somewhat manageable. She has taken Noah to school twice since switching to Percocet, and it's exhausting and painful, but it's possible. She clings to this, however fragile the sense of improvement is.

"That's good to hear, Liv. It may not seem like much with everything else going on, but it's a starting point," Amanda encourages. Her eyes turn a more vibrant shade of blue as she covers Olivia's hand with her own.

"I guess," Olivia agrees, albeit unenthusiastically. It's always been one step forward, two steps back since the accident, so she's not getting her hopes up for much more progress. It's nerve-racking to wait for the next appointment with Dr. Willem-Vasquez to see if the MRI is any more conclusive when it comes to her medical issues and pain. Olivia's trying not to think about it too much, so she changes the subject.

"How's the squad?" The mere mention of her squad makes it feel like there is a massive, cold stone in Olivia's stomach, and Rollins' reaction is that of a person that just got stung by a bee. That's not a good sign. "What?" Olivia urges. Looking away she's trying to feign indifference that her shaky voice refutes.

"It's nothing," Amanda tries, shaking her head. Nothing that should concern Olivia right now.

"Well, if it's nothing then you can tell me, can't you?" She looks Amanda right in the eye now, hoping the blonde won't notice the nervous shaking of her hand or that inside she feels as unsettled as a rootless tree.

"Liv…" This string of conversation has caught Rollins completely off guard. They haven't discussed the squad in months.

"Don't start this with me, Amanda," Olivia demands, staring at her stubbornly now. "Not you too." She needs everyone to take off the goddamn kids gloves around her. As if she couldn't take it when people are being straight with her. "This is-," she starts fiercely, then stops and swallows mid-sentence.

_This is still my squad._

Except it isn't anymore, is it? Not really. She hasn't stepped foot into the 1-6 in eight months. Fin has cleared her desk and office and moved into it as CO with Amanda as his number two for the time being. "This is the least you can do for me here, Rollins. As my friend."

She sees Amanda swallow and nod and trying to prepare herself, Olivia bites the inside of her cheek hard.

"They brought in a new Captain last week."

It knocks the breath right out of Olivia. The nausea jolts back into her system, making Olivia think she's going to be physically sick any second. It shouldn't be surprising. Secretly she'd been wondering what is taking them so long. But now that the moment is here, and she hears the words spoken out loud the cruel reality comes crashing down on her in a way that no amount of supposed knowledge or readiness could have prepared her for. They have officially found her replacement, officially acknowledged Lieutenant Olivia Benson is not going to come back.

It's over. Finis.

With a simple sentence from Amanda's mouth, Olivia is stripped of her life's work and achievements. None of what she has done in the past eighteen years means anything anymore.

"Liv."

Olivia looks up and sees it then. They don't look at her the same. She is no longer Rollins' superior and the blonde knows it. They all know it, have for awhile. Olivia has just refused to acknowledge it, and they have been kind enough to not throw it in her face. Just like that the fire in her is drowned out.

She has nowhere else to go. No more crimes to fight, no wrongs to right, no more ladders to climb. When she has already lost so much, how come that this feels like she's losing the biggest part of herself? The essence that makes her _her. _

The thoughts are fleeting and flimsy, nothing she can grasp. One thing she can comprehend. She feels like she's standing on the edge of an abyss and it's droing in her head _jump. Jump. JUMP! _

Inside of her everything is spinning out of control while on the outside she sits stoically calm.

"I'm fine," it comes mechanically, face tight and voice firm. At this point the phrase will make anyone a winner at bullshit Bingo, Olivia Benson edition, and doesn't she know it, but she is a hundred and one miles past caring if people buy into it. The fork clanks against the plate as Olivia drops it, done eating. Rollins looks as guilty as Olivia imagines she would stumbling straight out of a casino. The entire squad has probably conferred who should tell her how and when. Images of them battling it out in a game of rock-paper-scissors flash in Olivia's mind, and it's tragically comical to think Amanda didn't even lose. Scooting her chair back, she reaches for her crutch.

"You know it's office politics, Liv. Fin didn't want to do it to start with. The guy's got nothing on you," Amanda starts, trying to put things into perspective.

"Except two working legs you mean?" Olivia retorts, humorless.

Amanda squirms uncomfortably. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Course not," Olivia dismisses. "It's not like you'd poke the elephant in the room on purpose." She has just entered royal bitch territory, and she knows it, but at this point she can't help it. She's clenching and unclenching her free hand, trying to withstand the urge to throw something. Her pulse speeds up in her temples, and she feels the threat of an impending headache that comes with the familiar struggle of holding back tears. In need of finding a task to busy herself she takes the plate she has hardly touched. Her gait is slow and shaky. She cleans up under Amanda's too intense watch, but the blonde detective knows better than to interfere.

With few more words spoken she asks Amanda to leave when she's done cleaning the dishes and refrigerating the leftovers of mashed potatoes and peas. Rollins doesn't give her a fight, not like Elliot would, and she is grateful for it. Well, at least until she receives a call from Elliot not long after Amanda leaves.

She should have seen that one coming.

…

It completely unnerves him. That blondie let it slip that SVU has a new captain, that she left when Olivia told her to, and even more so that Liv refuses to pick up the goddamn phone, ignoring him. Which he knows she does. Her phone is never switched on silent because of Noah. This is completely deliberate, and he wants to throttle Liv for letting him stew in his worry.

Nervously he glances at the clock on his computer. 1:34 pm. There is no way he can get away with punching out early again, not with as much personal time he's taken in the past few weeks. There's only so much liberty he has if he wants to keep his job.

"Goddammit Olivia," he hisses underneath his breath. He tries calling her once more, to no avail. She is not going to pick up. Instead he leaves a message on her voicemail.

"Liv? It's me. Erm… you're not picking up the phone so I'm just going to… anyway, I thought I could stop by for dinner, say around six? I'll bring some groceries, you're out of cereal so… if you need anything just let me know in time. I'll see you later. And maybe get back to me, just so I know you're okay. Okay? Thanks."

He hangs up and slams the phone onto his desk a little harder than what seems healthy for the device. He fears the little progress there has been has gone out the window now that Rollins told Liv about her replacement. It's the very last thing Olivia should worry about and probably the only thing on her mind now. How is he supposed to fix this? Knowing her she's going to retreat from him again if he pushes too hard and Elliot fears his mere presence is going to do just that. But he can't possibly stay away all weekend, either. First of all she needs the help with Noah, even if she would never admit to it, and then he needs the reassurance that she's dealing in healthier ways than before. That she's not being reckless with her medication because she has played with the thought of taking more than the prescribed dose (he is paranoid since she said it and has started counting her pills religiously when he gets the chace), that she's not drinking; that she's not spiraling into another breakdown for Noah to overhear or see.

Jesus, there is a reason he told them to keep the news from her for now. He had wanted some time to think about how to break it to her gently, not have it blurted out over lunch.

Since Monday's appointment with the new doctor things have been up and down. Elliot is focusing on the good. The shot at the Dr. Willem-Vasquez' office had allowed Olivia to spend a day nearly free from the agonizing kind of pain she was usually in. Evidently she got around a little more quickly, she didn't tire as easily from walking, so she grabbed that opportunity by the head and took Noah out to the playground. On the downside Olivia was dead beat by the time they got back, despite taking several breaks. She entirely exhausted herself. In the evening, when the shot started to wear off, it hit Olivia like a hammer. As well as she had gotten through the day on whatever drug was injected, the following night, despite the first dose of Percocet, has been absolute hell. One tremor and subsequent cramp followed the next and Liv swore, in tears, that she could no longer take it. Neither of them slept that night and eventually Elliot had cracked and given her two more of the pills. Freaked out he had called the Doctor from work on Tuesday morning. After his report, she agreed that it was likely that Olivia had overdone it the day before, and to give the drugs a chance throughout the day.

The entire work day Elliot had been unable to focus or think of anything but Olivia, checking in on her a few times. By the time he came back over in the evening they got to register the first victories. Olivia was doing better on Percocet. All through the day she hasn't been nauseous and for a couple of hours after taking the pills the pain was better. As ecstatic as Elliot had been upon hearing the news, he hadn't reckoned Liv, even without the nausea, wouldn't have much of an appetite.

The portions she eats are small. He fixes her toast for breakfast before he leaves in the evenings but doubts Olivia is truthful about eating it. Every ounce of willpower Elliot possesses is being used up every time he does not rummage through the trash for the leftovers he is certain are there. His frustration runs high watching her avoid as many bites as possible. Although she gets upset with him over it, he urges her to eat and ups the calories whenever he can. Every day he makes her a fruit shake with full fat milk and a bit of peanut butter. Liv seems to get tired of the same thing every day, but it's the one thing she actually finishes. Fronts are hardening by the day. She's pissed at him for making food such a big deal, he's angry that she's not even trying. It's like she hadn't heard the doctor say not losing any more weight is a priority. The malicious side of him is this close to putting her on the scales to point out how miserably she's failing at that, but he doubts these methods are going to fly with Olivia. Their foundation is already cracked; he doesn't want to imagine what any kind of humiliation will do.

He tries to focus on the progress they make but it's hurdle after hurdle after hurdle.

_We _he thinks. He's in this with her but he feels very alone. The constant uphill battle is tiring and sometimes he wants nothing more than to drive his fist through a wall and scream his lungs out. Especially when it feels like Liv's not even trying.

If he can then she should, too. But she doesn't and since her emotional breakdown she hasn't let him in, no matter his efforts.

Whatever Elliot does, it never seems like it is enough. Even with daily visits he sees too little of Liv and how she is truly getting by. If money weren't an issue, he'd quit his job just to be around her full time. Instinctually, he wants to move in but he can't do that without taking the last sense of independence from her.

_Hello, rock. Hello, hard place. Elliot Stabler. Pleasure._

With a throbbing head he closes his eyes, pushes three fingers of each hand against his temples and starts massaging in big circular motions. _If you'd just pick up the goddamn phone_, he thinks. But Olivia Benson is as stubborn as this headache. The reluctance to talk to him shouldn't still surprise him. She has no active parts in the dinner conversations, merely acknowledging what he says with sounds of _hm_ and _uh-huh. _He can count himself lucky when she uses actual words like _yes _and _no. _The things she doesn't say are a lot louder these days. Like now: _Fuck you. _

Unamused, Elliot groans. He can actually hear her voice say the words in his head. Hears them a lot lately. With his jaw clenched and his body tense he glances at his phone as if he can telepathically bargain with Olivia for a call and slightly bows his head in defeat when the device doesn't ring.

Five hours later he unlocks the door to her apartment after knocking three times to announce his arrival. Olivia had given him the keys grudgingly after she had slipped and fallen on the stairs on the way back from the MRI on Wednesday. Although she had claimed she just missed the step Elliot has had a peculiar feeling. It has happened so fast however, that he couldn't be sure his gut feeling was right.

He finds mother and son on the sofa, watching one of Noah's favorite cartoons, and Liv's pissed off all right. It's in the short glance -actually it's more of a glare- she directs at him before wordlessly focusing on the TV again. At least Noah is happy to see him.

"Elliot!"

"Hey, Bud," he says back with a smile and lifts one of the grocery bags in greeting. On his way to the kitchen he realizes how familiar he has become with her place, her child. The boy joins him as he unpacks, inspecting each item before ruling if Elliot did a good or bad job at shopping. Apparently he bought too much fruit and vegetables and too little snacks. Elliot solemnly promises he will do better next time and Noah is easily appeased, unlike his mother.

For dinner it's fish sticks and leftover mashed potatoes for Noah, and banana milkshake, salad, and ciabatta bread for the adults. Olivia finishes the shake but doesn't touch the salad, no matter how intensely Elliot's eyes urge her to have some.

"How was your day?" he eventually asks, breaking through the silence between them. Luckily Noah has so much to talk about, he doesn't even seem to take notice of the problematic behavior coming from the grown-ups.

For a little while Olivia stares at him in silence. She's not pleased with him at all, that's for sure. Just when he starts getting impatient with her attitude towards him she answers, but it's mock-enthusiastic and petty.

"Dandy."

He glances back and forth between her and her four-year old son, deciding not to get into it while he's still around.

"Aren't you hungry at all?" He sounds small now, at the end of what he can take in terms of standing by watching her be so self-destructive with her body.

"Oh, don't worry. I had lunch. More than I could stomach, actually."

Of course. He should have kept his mouth shut. For a moment he hesitates and exhales slowly. She is angry, and there's room for that, but it's not here.

"You don't really want to do this in this setting, Liv," he says evenly, glancing at Noah. He doesn't want her passive-aggressiveness towards him to affect her child, and it's only a matter of time until the boy won't be oblivious to their dysfunctional communication patterns. Bristling, she pushes her chair back and gets up.

"Olivia…"

Pivoting, she raises her hand and looks him dead in the eye. It is scary how little color there is in her lips and her skin, how hollow her eyes are. Whatever Olivia intends to say or do, it never comes. Instead she inhales slowly, shakes her head and walks away from the table. By now he should know better than to tell her what to do or not do but, Jesus, she's got him angry, too. She vanishes into her bedroom, and, for once, Elliot is not positive she will come back out, even for her son's sake.

Elliot, absentmindedly, pushes his fingers into the back of his neck and cocks his head. He loves her, but in moments like this he gets so, so tired. It feels like she hates him vehemently at this point and doesn't want to recognize that he's only trying to help. Whenever they talk it is oscillating between sparse and toxic. It's funny to think that she's right here, and yet she isn't. And God, he misses her.

"Where did mommy go?"

"I think she's tired, bud," Elliot says tentatively and puts down his fork. He could really do with a drink but decides to save it for later. Something tells him he'll need it even more then than he does now. While Noah finishes his dinner, Elliot stays put at the table with him.

The clean up is quick. He places a call with Kathy and gets to talk to Eli for a couple of minutes because he can't take him this weekend like he's supposed to. They decide Kathy is going to drop him off at his place tomorrow and pick him back up a couple of hours later. He feels like he is a lousy father since all of this has started. No matter what, at this point he can't justify leaving Olivia alone all weekend, but he can't bring Eli here, either. Kathy is taking it rather well. Knowing her he expected much worse after the first time he cancelled.

While Elliot is still on the phone with his son, Olivia comes out of hiding and gets Noah ready for bed. When she is tucking the little one in, she closes the door, making sure Elliot understands he's not wanted. She is hurting, he knows that. And while he didn't do anything to cause her that pain he even understands why she isn't able to compartmentalize that but damn, how come she is so resentful towards him?

Pouring himself a drink, Elliot goes to sit down on the couch. If he closes his eyes and focuses he can hear Olivia's muffled voice through the shut door although he can't make out what she is saying. Most likely she's reading Noah one of his books; he's got quite the collection.

When she emerges from Noah's room and quietly closes the door, Elliot turns. Olivia however doesn't pay him any attention. Refusing to approach him she limps past the couch and back into her bedroom.

_THUD. _

Elliot bows his head. One might think he'd be getting used to Liv shutting him out, but the truth is that it always, always cuts like a knife. For a minute he hesitates. Eventually he gets up and walks straight to her door. Hesitates once more. Walks back. Paces.

He clenches and unclenches his fists that are itching to pummel something very solid until he feels something other than the searing pain of her constant rejection.

Coming to a halt Elliot considers his options. Either he leaves and comes back tomorrow, giving her the space to hopefully calm down, or he could face her and sort this out. Neither option appeals to him. He finds himself quietly knocking on her door before opening it. The night light on her bed stand is switched on, the bed is unmade, the thick curtains drawn. There's a bottle of what Elliot assumes is Percocet and a bottle of water on there making him bristle just imagining Noah could get his hands on the drugs. He pushes the door open further and steps in, noticing a smell that comes with unclean bed linen and insufficient airing, and he wonders if she has opened the window at all this week.

Hearing her feet shuffle in the bathroom before he sees her, Elliot decides to make his presence known, but she spots him before he can form her name on his lips. She doesn't look the least bit surprised.

"Get out." There is hardly any force behind the words. Her body moves slowly as she walks into the bedroom. She is no longer looking at him, as if he isn't even there, and it makes him boil on the inside.

"Liv, let's just…"

"I said get out," it comes more forcefully this time. Her eyes are daggers. And he's done.

"No," he huffs defiantly, taking in her fragile frame. "We are going to talk."

"You understand this is my place, my bedroom?" she asks incredulously.

A brief pause and he stretches out his arms. "And yet here we are," Elliot retorts, refusing to let her guilt him into leaving. Not this time. Instead he makes it a point to close the door before hell breaks loose. Olivia looks shocked for a moment but recovers quickly and leans on her crutch, debating her options. Elliot takes a couple of strides and plants himself firmly at the foot of her mattress, seemingly daring her to repeat for him to get out. Unsurprisingly, she does.

"I said get the hell out, Elliot." The audacity, she thinks. It's unbelievable. And then she sees the hint of a smirk playing around his lips. He shifts to get comfortable.

"No, Olivia. Not before we talk," he says, serious, patting the bed next to him in invitation.

"Fuck's sake, you gotta be kidding me," she scoffs underneath her breath while shaking her head. God, the irony. "Seriously? After all this time you wanna climb into bed with me?"

She watches him intently now, seeing his eyes twinkle and turn a shade darker as the muscle in his jaw jumps. Upping the ante she adds: "Semper Fi indeed, huh?" Shifting on her foot she tries to find a more comfortable position, to no avail. She wants him gone. Now. "Get out of my bed now, Elliot. There's nothing to talk about."

"No? That's funny. Last time I checked you were giving me the cold-shoulder and the silent treatment. Not that that's new but I'd really like to know, Olivia. What the hell have I done to you this time to deserve it?"

She is not going to do this. Absolutely not. She walks around the bed, the limp more severe after the day. "Get the hell out," she seethes, tired of his antics.

"You want me out, make me," he tells her, holding his ground and her eye. For a second she considers this but realizes she couldn't take him on if she tried. Not anymore. And she's not going to allow him to humiliate herself in front of him. Would he enjoy that? To see her take a go at him and fail miserably? Does he secretly hope she will take the bait just for a moment of amusement?

"Mulish bastard," she mutters, grabbing the covers that are haphazardly scattered on her bed, pulling them back.

"Bringing out the big guns, aren't you?" he mocks cockily, lips twitching with a lopsided smile.

Her leg is starting to hurt. So is her head. "And you're bringing out the worst in you. Just fuck off, okay? Nobody asked you to come here." In an instant the atmosphere changes. With a start Elliot is off the bed and stalks towards her. He looks impossibly tall, impossibly sturdy with this palpable anger rolling off of him.

"If I didn't come here, how do you think you would fare? You and Noah both?" he hisses hotly.

She stares at him after his outburst, squinting at him, trying to process the words.

"What are you saying, Elliot?"

"Oh please, don't ask me to spell it out for you, Olivia," he huffs. "I'm trying here, and you are so pissed at me, no matter what I do, no matter what I say," he stretches out his arms.

"I'm pissed at you because you don't say shit, Elliot!" Olivia shouts.

"And you wanna blame me for that?" he shouts back.

"Who do you think you are keeping this from me? And advising others not to tell me?" You have no business meddling with my life!" With the bedsheet still in her hand she actually shoves him. It's laughable because Elliot doesn't even sway.

When he speaks his voice is low. "I didn't tell you because you don't need to focus on this bullshit. You were nowhere near ready to hear it!"

"That's not for you to decide," she spits at him spitefully and draws in a shaky breath because she feels lightheaded. "You always did this! Always have, always will! I told you I am not going to put up with this anymore and you told me it wouldn't happen again! And didn't I know it?"

"Don't give me your self-righteous bullshit, Olivia! It doesn't matter what anyone does, you're pushing everyone away!"

The accusation almost makes her stumble and she presses her hand to her chest. "Well, with you I didn't even have to try, did I? You walked away from me all by yourself," she whispers, tears welling in her eyes.

He walked away from her like everyone else has. He did it once; he will do it again, it's only a matter of time. She shivers with the realization and holds on to her crutch more tightly. It hangs in the air between them, that sense that this, whatever it is, is not going to last. She wants to bring it up and tell him that they both know that at the end of this he's going to walk away again.

"You can't keep punishing me for that," he utters throatily. "And I won't let you guilt trip me for caring for you. You're struggling already, so what good does it do for you to know they assigned a new Captain to SVU?" Elliot's voice is softer now, almost soothing as he reaches out for her hand. When he touches her she flinches and shakes her head vehemently. She doesn't want his comfort or his touch. She doesn't even want him here.

"That's not the point," she tells him bitterly. "You don't get to manage my life and decide what information gets to me or not. I can handle myself. I get to make those decisions!"

It's bordering on comical that she thinks she can handle herself.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Olivia, you can't handle yourself! You're not making your bed, you're sleeping in your day clothes - did you even shower today? You are skin and bones because you're refusing to eat, you're depressed, you've… you've given up. Which part exactly translates to you being able to handle _anything_ at this point?"

When it's out Olivia's face falls and she takes a slow step backwards. There is too little space between him and her, but she can't physically come up with enough strength to walk away from him. It stings, but truthfully, at least his god-honest opinion is out in the open now. She should be thankful.

"If I'm such a terrible, incapable fuck-up then what are you still doing here?" Her furious words come out just above a whisper. "If you hadn't screwed up your career, parenthood, your marriage? We both know you wouldn't be here, would you? I don't want to be your charity project now that you have nothing else. So, why don't you do both of us a favor and go fuck yourself."

At this he recoils as if she had just struck him. He swallows, licks his lips and swallows despite the lump her words put in his throat. His voice is dangerously low as he steps closer to her again, stopping only when his face is three inches from hers. "You're hurting, so I'll cut you some slack and pretend you didn't just say that to me." With his breath in her face she blinks. When he pulls back his eyes look haunted. Mistake or not, what she sees serves as a catalyst and she can't stop herself from doing what she does best. She pushes.

"Truth hurts, doesn't it?"

Elliot's body stills. It seems for a moment he stops breathing as the words sink in and seep into his bones. Walls that came tumbling down months ago are drawn back up and he retreats. One step, two, three. Finally there is some space between them. His breathlessness is her air.

Her eyes waver. Too far, she thinks suddenly. Maybe a little too late. He clears his throat and shakes his head, looking at her like he doesn't even know her.

"I'm done with this." His voice sounds shattered. Broken. A few more steps and the corners of Olivia's mouth start to twitch, so she purses her lips, hides from him as best as she can.

This is it, she thinks. He's done. It's always been a question of time, just like she had suspected from the start. It's a little unsettling that it is today. Despite the pushing, she hadn't expected it. But it's also reassuring because well - she hadn't been wrong.

His footsteps echo in her ear and she turns her head away, unable to watch him leave. Knowing, she thinks, is one thing. Seeing it play out quite another. Within her something rumbles to life, telling her to say something, do something.

_Abort_, it screams.

But she is just standing in her spot, unable to form words or move as he slips away and closes the door. It's eerily silent in the room, except the whooshing Olivia's blood in her ears. A cool shiver runs down her spine. Slowly she inches towards the bed and sits, bracing both hands on the bedspread. Faintly she hears the front door close. She falls back against the mattress, feeling consumed by feelings she's come to know all too well.

Loss. Emptiness. Solitude.

_I'm done with this. _

He's done with this. With her. Done.

If she had seen it coming, she wonders, then why does it hurt worse than a smoldering cigarette assaulting delicate flesh.

Her skin crawls with the comparison and memories alike as her heartbeat thumps at a neck-breaking pace that makes Olivia feel physically sick.

_I'm done with this_.

Her palm closes around her left breast with her index-finger settling against the indentation of a circular scar beneath her bra.

_I'm done with this. _

Roughly she squeezes her breast, her finger pushing deeply, painfully into one of the marks Lewis had left on her body. With her jaw clenched she releases a groan through her nose, trying to feel something other than the gaping void Elliot Stabler is leaving within her. Her shirt-clad flesh protrudes between her fingers as she grips herself more forcefully, whimpering into the abandonment of the room. When she lets go, she is sore, throbbing and shaking with what she has just done. Tucking in her bottom lip she exhales shakily, allowing tears to slide down her temples.

This is not how she deals, Olivia reminds herself. Not anymore. With the shame washing over her, she turns onto her side and curls her body up, hugging herself.

Demons are going to sleep with her tonight. Demons she has invited into her bed. Olivia can't stop shaking. This room feels too small all of a sudden, like the walls are closing in on her.

Somehow she can't grasp how things could spin so far out of control. So many words were hurled, and she can't remember half of the argument. It was supposed to be about Elliot not telling her about the new Captain but somehow it had snowballed into so much more. Her failings, his mistakes.

And although painful she clings to it all because once she falls asleep, that's when the real nightmare begins.


	16. Anger

It takes everything within Elliot not to fall back into old habits and act in a blind rage upon leaving the apartment. He closes the two doors quietly instead of slamming them hard enough to rattle the walls of the place which, admittedly, is more for Noah's benefit than Olivia's. For a brief moment he had listened at the boy's door and even peeked in, wondering if their shouting had woken him up. Noah, bundled up in the covers up to his chin, was peacefully unaware. The walls aren't thick but either the kid has sound sleep, or there's just enough space between the rooms.

A moment of panic overcomes him once her front door closes with a click and he pats himself down, relieved when he feels the keys she's entrusted him with at his side. The urge for escalation doesn't pass, however. Drawing in a bated breath Elliot balls his hands to fists, knuckles protruding in the same ghostly white color Olivia's face has these days. Staring at his own hands, he knows they belong to him, even though they feel like they don't, like he might not be in complete control of them.

Some habits, he thinks, die hard indeed.

The words Olivia spat at him still slice through him, slashing open old wounds. The job. His kids. His failed marriage. Now, she's not wrong saying he got none of it right. Each of those instances is a special regret he holds onto beneath his skin, pieces of his fractured heart. He's carried a lot of guilt with him over the years. Since his childhood days things have kept piling up. Olivia knows exactly where to strike so it will hurt, shoved his culpabilities right back into his arms, making sure he won't forget where they belong. It's not surprising that she lashed out like this because since he walked away from the job (not from her, never from her), she holds on to her anger like he does to his remorse. He wants, needs, her forgiveness but she has drawn her walls up so high, he hasn't truly seen her since 2011.

Every now and then he catches glimpses of her, of the things going on behind the barricades, but before he can get to her she shuts down and closes the gateway.

He tells himself it's going to take time, that the six years he has let her down courtesy his cowardice, can't be erased simply because he's here now. Olivia had needed him then, probably as much as she needs him now, if not more. So he tries to give her time and not look at regaining her complete trust like a sprint but a journey with turns, windings and impasses. That although it may be a long road, he'll eventually find his way back into the cocoon of her loyalty. But sometimes? Sometimes he's not so sure.

His anger radiates red-hot, simmers, but it's no longer with Olivia. It's with himself. Because what it comes down to, is that he is to blame. If he hadn't walked away from Olivia without a word, they wouldn't be here. If he had picked up the phone just once like her strained voice had pleaded with him on his voicemail, things would be different. He'd listened to her voicemails a lot. His mailbox had been full of her.

He exhales, his fists still raised. Slowly, Elliot flexes his fingers, then stretches them. He hasn't pummeled a locker, or anything else for that matter, in years. Not since he's found out about William Lewis and got his hands bloody and broken by tackling a concrete wall.

By the time Olivia's abduction had hit the news, Elliot had barely picked himself up enough to function. He had moved into a small one-bedroom after the split from Kathy. The kids, except Eli, too young to understand what the hell had been going on, resented him; the depression still had a firm hold on his life and the drinks… well, the drinks had become the only comfort he could find.

He'd followed the news religiously, never leaving his sofa unless it was to open a new bottle of his good friend Jack, or to take a piss. The TV was running twenty-four hours a day. He didn't eat. He didn't shower. For a man who'd lost his faith since the shooting he'd prayed an awful lot, though, bargaining with God to please, please not take her.

He'd vowed he'd do better, if only Olivia would make it out of Lewis' grasp alive. That if only she'd get through this, he'd get his shit together for real and go to her and fix what he'd broken. In theory that had all made sense and he'd succeeded with the first part of the equation. He got himself together all right. Went to therapy, stopped drinking, started taking care of himself and rebuilt his relationship with his older children. But when it came to facing her it turned out he had been nowhere near ready. He'd heard that she had a child, a little boy. She'd made Sergeant. Evidently Olivia's life had been going great. She'd made strides, she'd thrived in ways he didn't think she had with him by her side. He knew she hadn't. Jesus, if anything he'd slowed her down and held her back every step of the way in their thirteen years together. Eventually Elliot had convinced himself that waltzing back into his ex-partner's life would do more damage than good. And what was he supposed to say to her anyway? Sorry didn't really cut it.

So, he'd stayed away, hoping he'd one day make his peace with the bed he's made for himself and that Olivia would forgive him for his selfishness.

Getting lost in his memories, it almost surprises Elliot not to see the crimson of bloodstained fists. Shakily he draws in a breath and puts both palms against her door, sliding them down as he slowly and consciously exhales, then back up as he inhales.

_Don't beat the shit out of her door_, it goes through his head like a mantra. His throat feels tight. He's breathing and yet it doesn't feel like he's getting enough air. He's made it out before saying things he would live to regret, that's half the battle. He should be a proud son of a bitch but somehow all he does is wonder about how Olivia is doing two doors down.

Her constant need to push him away scares him. He misses the hell out of her, of what they used to be. While it was never not complicated he'd never felt so fucked over by circumstances as he does now. Olivia can barely keep it together and it feels like the more she's slipping away, the harder it gets to maneuver this ship.

The breathing technique is doing its job. Elliot's shoulders sag slightly and he plants his forehead against the door. For a moment he closes his eyes. The light in the hallway is offensive and piercing. The past four, five weeks play back in his mind, and it's unsettling that the only time Olivia's exhibited some real spunk was by lashing out at him. If he wasn't convinced she must actually hate him, he sure as hell is now. Maybe that's what's so unsettling to him. That in a way he has already lost her.

He stands still and realizes he needs some space. Just a few hours to get her cruel accusations out of his head and _breathe. _It seems he never just breathes anymore.

His life has been put on hold the moment he had received that call eight months ago. He lives, drinks, sleeps and dreams Olivia Benson and while he wouldn't have it any other way her presence has become this pounding ache within him. No matter what he does, it's not enough. It feels like chasing a train that's left the station, making him wonder if nothing's sacred anymore.

He needs to save her. Needs to. But this ache inside, this doubt if he can, her daily defiance? It's bringing him to his knees. Right now he doesn't know for how much longer he can hold it together for her.

…

It's been months since he's last been at the gym pounding away at the punching bag. His body thrashes unforgivingly. He's quick on his feet, breath ragged. He's lost sense of time, wondering for how long he's been here as he stills, the bag swinging like a pendulum. Taking a step back he closes his eyes. His lungs and muscles burn from exhaustion and it feels good, freeing. With the back of his hand Elliot wipes his forehead and steps back, sniffling. In a way he is profoundly grateful for her anger because he had forgotten what it feels like to get shit out of his system. For the first time in months he feels alive, like he can keep going.

Drenched in sweat he grabs the water bottle and takes a few long, healthy sips before he heads for the locker room for a shower. Under the spray he is rigid, scalding hot water cascading down his back. The heat is slipping beneath his skin, into his bones, reviving what has been frozen. The water cleanses his skin, and he thinks he wants a clean slate with Liv. He braces his palms against the small cubicle, closes his eyes and breathes. Deep.

He yearns for things. For her. He doesn't want to think about the past right now, but it's hard not to when that's where all the good memories are.

Her smile flashes behind his closed eyes. It was a rare thing even then but now he never gets to see it anymore. At night, in the quiet of his apartment, he often wonders if he'll get to see it again or if all of her smiles have been used up.

Olivia is outrageously beautiful to Elliot even now, and he is confident nothing is ever going to change that. It has nothing to do with looks alone because she has always appealed to him.

There was a time when he had told himself his attraction stemmed from the mere fact that Olivia is a good looking woman with curves in all the right places. Easy on the eyes and all that. He knows now that's the only thing he could come up with to avoid facing up to what was truly happening. Probably he knew it even then, but denial is a warm blanket. It was never just about that face, those eyes, her perfectly curved lips, her hips, her ass. It's been the confidence she exuded, her strength behind all of her vulnerabilities, her compassion, her sharp mind.

For years all those things didn't let Elliot sleep soundly because he'd see her in his dreams, his partner, looking at him from across her desk, smirking at him with that tiny curl of her lips, her nickname for him falling from them. _El_. He'd first noticed that look a few months into working with her. It was the kind of thing that had made his throat impossibly dry and his dick stiffen. Turns out that still happens, even now, eighteen years later. Because at night, in his dreams, he still sees her exactly like that, and it's been roughly a decade since he's had the real deal directed at him.

Maybe he's a pervert for it. Maybe he is objectifying her, his ex-partner, best friend, the woman he's been lusting after for half of his marriage. While he's not proud of it, he isn't too torn up about it, either. Not anymore. Used to be different when he still had Kathy in bed next to him. Since his divorce he'd indulged in the images and subsequent fantasies. Sometimes it had felt like her presence lingered, ingrained in his being, his chest. He got to be close to her like this and he took what he could.

He'd stopped touching himself with Olivia on his mind after the accident stone-cold. He'd stopped touching himself since he'd found out, period.

Granted, his desire for her is as strong as it's ever been, and so is his erection, but it feels wrong to him to feel and surrender himself to lust when Olivia is hurting so much, both physically and emotionally. He'd like for his dick to get the memo because despite his resolve of steel it taunts him every morning, every night.

With his head falling forward the stream runs down his face. He tilts his head up as if the water could wash away his guilt over how much he wants her physically, how strongly he reacts to the mere thought of her. If he'd give in to this appetite, he wonders how long it would take him to find release, if somehow it'd help relieve him of the worries and fears that have become his constant companions.

Before his resolve weakens he blows out a breath and turns off the shower. He's tense with eight month's worth of pent up frustration and wraps the towel around his hips, ignoring his body's cry for attention.

He gets dressed and slams the locker shut when he's done, deciding to allow himself one drink when he gets home. He hadn't touched the Scotch he'd poured himself at Olivia's while she had tucked Noah in. Tossing his duffel bag onto the passenger seat he climbs into the car.

Twenty minutes later he finds himself in front of her building instead of his home. He prefers Liv's because he feels more in control than he does in his own four walls in Brooklyn. When he isn't around Olivia and Noah he's constantly on edge, wondering how they are doing, if she can catch a break, or if her leg has her in agonizing pain on the floor. Around her, even with her rebuffs and giving him the cold shoulder, despite the silence, he doesn't feel as useless. He finds a parking space three blocks from her but can't bring himself to go there yet. So he walks the streets aimlessly in a desperate attempt to calm his traitorous body down. Since his shower at the gym that goddamn smirk of hers is playing in the most prominent corner of his mind. What a fucking merry-go-round.

To think of her smirking at him that does him in is the most ridiculous thing to him. He's seen Olivia Benson in various stages of undress in the locker room, let his eyes rake over her from a perfectly made-up head to meticulously painted toenails in very high heels wearing dresses that made his throat lock. Damn, she's thrown herself at him in just pants and a flimsy bra murmuring "Are you ready for me, Daddy?", her erect nipples straining against his chest. It was ten shades of fucked up because Jesus, the circumstances, but still his body had reacted to her searing proximity and touch. It would probably make for a perfect fantasy for any other red-blooded male. And yet it is that darn smirk across the desk that gets him going each and every time.

He stops at a bar and allows himself a single beer that he doesn't finish. He's trying to buy some time. If it's for his sake or for Olivia's - he's got no idea. At this point he doesn't even know if it's safe not to go home because if what has transpired a few hours ago is any indication, the entire situation might just implode.

…

It's a peculiar feeling to let himself inside Olivia's apartment. Elliot thinks he's never going to get used to using her key under these circumstances. Many years ago he used to have one to her old place. For emergencies, Olivia had told him. There had never been an instance for him to use it.

It's dark and quiet. He fumbles for the lightswitch to his right. Everything looks the same. The drink he had poured before the confrontation still sits on the coffee table, untouched. He listens for any noise but there is nothing except the quiet hum of the refrigerator. He takes off his shoes, not wanting to make any noise, just in case Olivia is asleep.

_Fat chance_, a little voice within him whispers.

He scoffs into the silence and shakes his head. Olivia hardly sleeps, he knows that. But since she's taking Percocet it has gotten better. Her eyes are still sunken in but the dark circles aren't quite as prominent as they were a week ago. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking on his part and he sees what he wants to see; who the hell knows? He rolls his shoulders and doffs the jacket, feeling the familiar chill and tension crawl back down from his neck into his body. Every bit of yearning he'd experienced up until now gets sucked out of his system by the anguish that resides between these walls.

There is nothing to do here so he feels lost. The Scotch on the coffee table smiles at him in invitation so he makes his way over but instead of downing the drink he pads towards the sink and pours it out.

The clock reads 11:12 pm. Although Elliot feels the exhaustion after taking his frustration out on the fake leather he isn't ready to lie down. He couldn't sleep if he tried. It's a rare thing when his mind shuts off.

He shuffles a few things around on the breakfast bar but it doesn't offer distraction for long. He's wary about turning the TV on, as if the slightest noise could interfere with the calm in the master bedroom.

Somehow he ends up on the threshold of Noah's room, watching the young boy sleep. He's all tousled, unruly hair and puckered lips and so, so peaceful. One small hand holds a stuffed animal, Lutz, a gray and white sloth that doesn't look like a sloth at all. It's funny how quickly the kid has adjusted to him being around when a few short weeks ago Noah was full of insecurities.

Elliot likes the boy. Of course he does, he's Olivia's, and then he has a soft spot for children in general but, he's fairly certain it's not just that. Crossing his arms Elliot leans against the doorframe and cocks his head, watching the slow and steady rise and fall of Noah's chest. There is a small flutter of eyelids, a delicate smile appearing for a second. It's there and gone, making Elliot wonder what the little one is dreaming about. It has got to be better than reality, a safe place without worry or fear, a place far away. Childish abandon is a luxury of the past. It's completely fucked up for a four-year old to be confronted with so much misery and pain. Hell, even Elliot hardly knows how to deal with it, how is a pre-schooler supposed to handle it and walk away unharmed?

Seeing her child like this puts things into perspective. He can't fall apart. If Noah Porter Benson doesn't get the luxury of enjoying a carefree childhood then Elliot doesn't get to complain about being at the end of his rope with Olivia. There is no crying in baseball, isn't that what he had said to his partner in their first year? Well, now's the time to walk the walk. He can't give up because this isn't just about him and Liv anymore, it's about this little boy and making sure that he'll be okay. And who is he kidding - he couldn't walk away from her again if he tried. The thing is that it feels like Olivia doesn't even think he's here. _Really_ here. He's running out of things to say and do to convince her. It'll have to be enough for him to just stay. If he sticks around, no matter how hard and often she's pushing him away, she'll have to realize it, too. He finds as much comfort in this fleeting belief as he once did in his drinks.

When he takes a few steps into the room, closer to her son in his race car bed, he feels overcome by a sense of calm that matches the boy's soft breath. It's a shame that it has taken him so long to meet him, so long to even find out about him, he thinks and his heart jerks.

He should have been there, he thinks. She's wanted this child so much and he has missed what have likely been the best of their years together. The thought feels like swallowing shards of glass. He's seen the various pictures of Noah when he was still a baby, of Noah and Olivia both, and he has never seen her more alive than in those photographs.

The accident took everything from her.

He sees her all the time. In that hospital bed. Pale, dry lips, shallow breath. The sounds of the monitors beeping away at all hours of the day is still in his ears when he closes his eyes. Jesus, he had a lot more hope then, even after she went into septic shock, than he has now. All of his conversations with God, for all the times he'd prayed by her hospital bed while holding her hand, he wonders if he's being punished. Because…

Because he's prayed for her to live. But this isn't it, Elliot judges. This is _not_ what he'd been praying for. Olivia may still be here physically but apart from that she's nowhere to be found. She's wasted away to nothingness. If she's still in that shell her body has become, he does not see her and it's the scariest part of it all. She's so, so broken. If there's a fix he needs to know, so he's back to bargaining with God.

_Please, please fix her. _

Seconds later he crouches and reaches out to touch Noah. It's the closest he gets to really touching her. There's a serenity in the warmth of the boy's skin that momentarily fills in the cracks in his heart but it doesn't last for long. Never does. He's thirsty for these moments because he never feels whole anymore outside of them.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into the silence, to Olivia's son. He's sorry for everything he's missed, the first year, his adoption, his mother's happiness. He's sorry because apart from being here there's not a damned thing he can do to make her better.

So there it is. Not only has he failed Olivia in every way, he's also failing her child.

Silently he vows to be better. If Liv has a lifeline it has got to be Noah. He will be more patient, more empathetic to Olivia's struggles and needs. He'll try to fuck up less. He'll make sure the little one is being taken care of.

He'll do better, which means he hasn't done enough yet.

The rising guilt is as acidic as bile. Right now he wants that drink he poured out earlier, craves that savoury burn. Wants it to replace the hollowness in his stomach that has taken up permanent residency.

Wiping his mouth he bows his head, takes the small, empty hand resting on the pillow into his. He's done this with his own children so many times and he can positively say it feels the same. The boy is not his, but God, does it feel the same. Same devotion, same need to protect. A familiar warmth surges through Elliot. He's in dire need of it, too. Something draws him closer and he finds himself with his nose inches from Noah's hair, breathing him in; it's light and sweet, the scent of Johnson & Johnson's head-to-toe and unadulterated innocence.

He'd asked God for second chances a lot. Right now he wonders if this is it. If bonding with her child, Olivia's child, is his redemption. If the culmination of his mistakes and sins is going to be wiped away and he gets to do right this time - clean slate and all.

He wants this. He wants this more than he's wanted anything in a very long time.

…

At first it's like a whisper in the night, so faint, he almost would have missed it. He listens, brows knit in concentration but it's eerily quiet in the living room. Maybe he was imagining things. Or maybe he was looking for an excuse to go and look after Olivia.

_Stupid. Leave her be. With any luck she's getting some needed sleep. _

His endurance is a fragile thing these days. He grits his teeth, grinds them, stares at the ceiling. Then he hears it again, more clearly this time. A whimper. Then another.

His heart is jump started, and he bolts upright on the sofa. She's either dreaming, or she's in pain. Either way, he knows the sound and it's not one that reassures him. He gets up and rubs his sweaty palms, wondering how much damage it is going to do if he goes into her room in the middle of the night. Being worried she's in distress is a good enough reason for him but it might not be for Olivia. He doesn't usually spend time in her bedroom. On nights he's over and she's awake, she joins him on the sofa. It's different in the day when she doesn't do something as intimate as sleep in her bed. A bed he can't help but wonder how it would feel to be in with her.

He breathes out a prayer that he isn't crossing any lines by walking into her room to check on her, that she's not going to punish him with more of her wrath. When he cracks the door open his heart constricts. She's in the middle of the bed, rolled up in a fetal position, looking fragile and small and in dire need of protection. When she sighs and stirs, he edges closer to the bed. He spots the twitch not a second before Olivia groans. She doesn't wake up, but her face contorts so much, he thinks her eyebrows are touching.

With a dry mouth, he swallows. He's almost reached the bed now, and her right arm thrashes. The sound that comes out next is half whimper, half cry.

It says a lot about how little strength he truly possesses when he can't take it.

"Liv." His voice is scratchy, and, although he moves his hand towards her, he doesn't touch her, just lets it hover for a moment, waiting for a sign of recognition from her. She doesn't wake up, only groans with her hand closing into a fist.

"Liv, it's me," he tries again, dropping his hand on her arm. His fingertips are pressing lightly into her. "I think your leg might be starting to cramp," he tells her, unsure if she's hearing him. His arm snakes around her, holding her. Finally, she moves and mumbles something into the back of her hand. Very slowly her eyes flutter open. She's groggy with sleep, and, if he's not mistaken, she must have been crying earlier because they are bloodshot.

His name is a weak statement on her lips.

"El."


	17. To want to be wanted

**Notes: Always one step forward, two steps back. Those last two chapters would be a step forward because things needed to be said and it's about time Olivia spoke her piece that hopefully will make Elliot see the root of her trust issues with him. Thank you Amy for beta'ing and sorting through the good and bad and helping me to make it what it is. I couldn't be more grateful for you. With that said: Enjoy. Reviews, as always, are highly appreciated. **

...

Two things register with her. Sharp, biting pain and Elliot's slightly blurry face in her field of vision. She's groggy, and the pounding in her head doesn't help her to make sense of his presence. She might be hallucinating. She is positive that they had a fight earlier. Even more positive that he'd left, telling her he was done with her.

It had been much easier to push him over the brink than Olivia had anticipated.

The anger she'd displayed still plays in the forefront of her mind. There were a hundred reasons for it, and yet she can't grasp a single one. Through the thicket of her screaming leg, Olivia hears Elliot talking to her again but she can hardly focus. Something about breathing. Breathing with him? She wants to. Tries. It's not so easy when her entire nervous system is short circuiting. Every breath she does take she holds in, scared that if she lets go it's going to get worse. Intellectually she knows it's not the case, but trying to reason with fear? It's not working so well for her these days. She grabs what little she can control by the head now, and holding her breath, not effectively breathing, it's _something_ she can control.

When the cramp subsides she becomes more aware. Of her surroundings, herself, him. Him on her bed, his right arm around her waist. His face in her hair.

She can count the number of times this has happened in her life. Zero. Because they don't do this.

Yes, he'd held her before, hugged her, carried her. But this, him with her in this bed? It's vastly different. She's spent, and thinking about this is overwhelming her.

There are fine lines. Very fine lines that, even drenched with fatigue, even with pain radiating from her left leg up to her spine, she knows shouldn't be crossed.

_Partners don't share beds. _

Except they are no longer partners.

He's an investigator, and she's a fucking mess.

She digs her fingers into her pillow when Elliot moves his head away, pulling back just enough to look at her. It's like she's paralyzed when he asks her if she's okay now. She can't move, nod her head, anything. She's trying to croak out a response, but it's just a strange sound that doesn't sound like either yes or no.

He's here. And she still can't make sense of it.

She stares into the blue of his eyes. Worried eyes, she realizes. His mouth moves, and he's asking the same question from before.

"Liv, are you okay?"

The blue of his eyes, it's distracting. She thought she had seen them reflect any possible shade and emotion. She might not have seen this one yet. It's a first. It seems they are sharing many of those. It's uncomfortable, though. She just wants things that are familiar. Those she can gauge. More than that is too much. Hell, everything is too much for her these days.

"Yeah," she manages. Her voice is strained. Instantly his eyes soften and change in color. They are a fascinating thing, his eyes.

He moves. His hand does. She doesn't know what she is supposed to think about it on her hip when it settles there. There's the smallest patch of skin where her sweatshirt has ridden up and his thumb is on it and drawing circles too. Circles. Against her skin.

It's gentle. He touches her with a tenderness she didn't expect. Maybe it has to do with his build or his big strong hands that she knows are calloused. Whenever he had touched her before he had exuded strength. When he'd grabbed and hugged her. When he'd half-dragged, half-carried her to the bathroom when she'd vomited. When he'd held her up.

But this is soft and delicate, and her brain can't process that Elliot Stabler, who she's never seen as a person of tenderness, is capable of it.

For over a decade she had been scared of this. Apparently not without reason. Because his fingers on her skin paint pictures of everything lingering underneath. She'd been scared, but she had also wanted it. The thought makes her freeze. He notices because his thumb stills against her dry skin.

She swallows hard with the realization that it's one of the many things he's offered and then taken away. But this time he hasn't taken himself out of the equation. Something as trivial as his touch can make her world collapse. It's almost ironic.

She's trapped in a broken body. What's worse is that now she's trapped in a broken body that knows what it feels like to be touched by him. By Elliot. It seems there is a special place in hell reserved for her.

"Do you need your pills?"

His breath tickles her face, which makes it hard to think. Her pills. She hadn't taken them before bed. Purposefully she nods. He moves away fully now and fixes her medication, opens the bottle of water. _I should have lied_, she thinks, because she feels impossibly cold where his hand had lingered. It's an addictive thing, his skin on hers. She'd always known it would be.

He offers her two of her pills in his open palm, and she accepts them gratefully and pops them in her mouth. The water is not needed, but she takes a couple of sips anyway, thinking right now she can't deal with the color of his eyes changing to disappointment.

"Good?" His voice is steady, and she nods as he screws the cap onto the bottle.

"Thank you."

She doesn't know what she's supposed to say. The situation is strange. Convinced that finally the other shoe had dropped, that he'd left her again, she hadn't expected him back here ever. She'd been fully prepared to face the next day on her own, just her and Noah, back to what it used to be before her injury.

Of course, in the end it's still only a matter of time. Him being back now doesn't mean anything. She's easy to leave. People have proven it time and time again. Her mother, her first love, every man she's ever been with. They may not be completely at fault, because pushing people away comes easier than letting them in. And they'd all gladly let her. All of them. If any of them had truly cared, truly wanted her, certainly they would have held on.

But then, she could have held on, too. Twice in her life she had. Twice in her life it had been in vain.

She'd always wished she could have been for mother what the booze had been for her, but instead of letting Olivia in, Serena had shut her out. Every second of grasping at her mother's fragments of love had chipped away at her psyche.

Splintered from the start, Olivia thinks. She'd never truly been wanted. Her conception was an abhorrent act of violence, her birth a result of her mother's utter lack of alternatives. She hadn't ever been a conscious choice. If anything she'd been a mistake, tainted, unlovable.

Sometimes she wonders what it feels like to be wanted, worth someone's notice.

It's like she once told Elliot after finding out she had a brother. She'd been alone for her whole life. She doesn't know how not to be. How to trust infinitely.

In Criminal Psych, they'd studied Erikson's eight stages of psychosocial development, and she'd wondered if Serena held and rocked her when she'd cried, if she'd held her hand and watched her baby sleep. If she ever played peekaboo, or couldn't bear looking into big brown eyes that were nothing like hers. It's not hard to imagine that Serena was unable to attend to her as an infant with stability and care. Maybe, that lack of consistency and reliability taught Olivia to be always suspicious.

But Elliot... She opened up to him more than anyone in her life. She'd turned inside out for him, allowed herself to cry in front of him, for God's sakes. She might as well have stripped herself naked, it would have been the same difference. She'd always, always gotten hurt, but she hadn't expected that from him. She'd believed he saw her, actually _cared_ about her beyond the superficial. Finding she was just as disposable to him as she'd been to everyone else in her life had ripped her heart right out of her chest. She'd been bleeding and everyone could see it and she'd sworn to never, never give anyone that kind of power over her again, especially not him.

Heartache, she thinks, needs a home. And it's with her.

She needed to push him away, to control the narrative: the when and how, the little details. The first time around he had caught her completely unprepared. But when he looks at her like he does, every fibre of her being wants things to be different this time.

She loves him. She loves him, and she hates him. Hates him for still making her feel like they had something profound, that she was special to him. He'd worked his way inside her guarded heart-then and now-she's still caught up in all the echoes of their past, from the faith she put in him to his betrayal to his return.

And here she is just waiting to fall again.

"I'm sorry for what I said, Liv. That wasn't right." Though he looks away from her briefly, he doesn't move. His voice has that gravelly quality to it that he shouldn't use in her bed. The sight of him on her mattress, she drinks it in. It is not something she should get used to. This is not where he belongs.

Olivia's cheeks start to prickle uncomfortably. She needs the Percocet to kick in because without the pounding of her head and the throbbing in her leg she can maybe focus on something else than the naked fact that everything Elliot is doing tonight is turning her world upside down. She used to be better at detaching, even before he'd ghosted her.

"I need to use the bathroom." She needs a break because she can't have this conversation when his thumb is burned into her skin and he's sitting on her bed like he belongs in it. Like there's nothing wrong with it at all. For some reason, she can't form the words to tell him to get off, to go home, that she's too tired to do this. Jesus, since when is he so hellbent on apologizing and talking shit out? He never could be bothered before.

_Before he left me. _

It wouldn't have surprised her if he'd held his ground and tried to stop her, grabbed her arm (_possessively, _she thinks. He'd grab it possessively), told her not to walk away from him. That they _were _going to talk. He doesn't, though.

"Okay."

He allows her to scoot to the far end of the bed where her crutch leans against the dresser. Upon getting out she needs to find her balance first, as if her leg is the one part of her body that's still asleep. Olivia can feel Elliot's eyes on her, his gaze intense.

"Olivia," he demands softly, and she can't refuse to look at him, never could. Why is he so damned hard to deny? "Come back out, okay?"

She pulls her bottom lip in and gnaws on it, then nods. The request is not completely unreasonable, chances are she would have locked the door and talked her way into why she couldn't face him. He gave her enough reasons within the past couple of minutes.

Because he's in her bed.

Because he'd touched her, and she's still, ruthlessly, reeling from it.

Because she's scared he's going to touch her again.

Because she's scared he won't.

She doesn't know which comes first, but they're all pathetic. Her throat closes, and she limps away from him into the sanctuary of her bathroom. When she closes the door however, it doesn't feel like she's shut him out. He's still there, in her head, inside of her, his breath hot on her face, and the indentation of his thumb tingling on her hip. He's doing things to her that she can't, won't ever be able to make logic of, and it's eating away at her.

No one else has ever had this kind of effect on her.

There was a time when she'd wanted him to touch her, and now that he did, it feels like she's shattering beyond repair.

She shivers, cold in all the places Elliot hadn't marked on her skin. She wonders if, when she looks in the mirror, she'll even recognize herself. Closing her eyes tightly, she wills herself to breathe. The last time she'd felt this cold was at the beach house. Lewis, too, had marked her but in a painful, destructive way. She hadn't recognized herself in the mirror then. Her eyes had been hollow, her face cut and bruised, her hair drenched in a mixture of sweat-hers and his-saliva, blood, alcohol, and dirt. She might have beaten Lewis and chained him to the iron bed frame, but it had felt like her spirit had been splintered.

She scrubs her hand across her face at the memory, telling herself to get a grip. It's over. Lewis is dead.

When she runs her hand through her hair, and her armpit is almost level with her nose, she notices the sour stench of cold sweat. She hadn't showered since yesterday morning. Truthfully, she hadn't bothered to brush her teeth either and only rinsed with mouthwash. It's getting harder and harder to take care of herself; she just can't come up with the energy or motivation.

With Elliot as close as he was just a minute ago she probably should, though, because she still has shame concerning the neglect of her body.

She wonders if he'd noticed, if he's disgusted by her lack of hygiene. She undresses down to her underwear and steps in front of the mirror, looking at her face.

Self-consciously she pushes the bra straps off her shoulders and winces at the discoloration of her left breast. She'd bruised herself before, many times, but the extent hadn't been this intense often. The scar from Lewis' cigarette isn't as prominent now, and while she likes that, she hates seeing the mark. She feels a strange disconnect from her entire left breast; because he'd burned the same spot again and again and again, hit her there, pinched her. Jesus, she'd been black and blue for two weeks. She swallows back tears, shakes her head at the memory of Lewis. This is not about him. She won't let this one be about how he'd hurt her.

_I'm done with this, _it echoes in her mind. Again.

Slowly she cups her bruised flesh, feeling the swelling that isn't visible upon first glance, and whimpers faintly. It'll be worse by morning. For a second she feels like she is going to throw up but, closing her eyes, she presses on it and allows herself to feel it.

_If he's done, then why did he come back? It doesn't make sense. _

She relishes the discomfort, ashamed of it, but not able to stop because it's the only distraction she can think of. God, she's fucked up.

_Stop. Just stop, don't do this_, it goes through her head. She clears her throat and abruptly lets go.

„Stop," she whispers shakily to herself and opens her eyes. She feels lightheaded as she takes herself in once more. She wonders why it is so easy for her to fall back into the habit of assaulting herself, why it still works so well when she needs to feel something different than her emotional pain.

Even before Elliot had come back, he'd been entangled in that, her want, her needs, her fears, her pleas, the terrifying aftermath of Lewis. How she'd let him get to her and turn her inside out piece by piece by goddamn piece. Time and time again he dug into her and carved her innermost secrets out of her and what for? So that in the end she'd freely offered what he'd wanted. She'd given him Elliot.

For months she'd wondered if Lewis reminisced about all he'd done to her, imagining her screaming out her partner's name the way she had in every nightmare she suffered.

Olivia had wanted nothing more than for Elliot to come and take her in his arms after. She'd just needed him to hold her.

And even now the fractured parts of her, those that William Lewis had shattered with words and keys and cigarettes, beg for the man in her bed to pull her close and not let go.

…

After a shower and brushing her teeth Olivia returns to the bedroom in thin sweats and a gray t-shirt. Elliot is still on the bed, sitting up against the headboard. He looks so comfortable on it, it's easy to imagine he belongs there. His concerned eyes take her in but soften as she walks further into the room.

„The limp's worse today." He says this as if he's talking about the weather, like the unpredictability of her injured leg is something he has gotten used to.

„Hm-hm." It is pretty bad indeed. She's had more trouble than usual getting up in the slippery tub. It hurts like a bitch, too, despite the medication.

„You look better, though," says Elliot. Her hair is still wet and frames her faces in messy waves, the way it is naturally. She imagines after her shower she has a bit more color in her face.

„Way to make a woman feel special," she retorts with a humorless snort. „No wonder you're still single."

„I know. I'm a man of many talents," Elliot says lightly. She doesn't know what to say to that. This is one of the many things they didn't do much. Joke, bicker, pull each other's leg. Seemed kind of inappropriate in their line of work.

„Seriously though, Liv. You know that's not how I meant it."

„Yeah. I know." She wonders if he plans on staying like this, in her bed. Even when she moves closer, he remains in the same spot. If she'd make a big deal of it, he'd know it affects her, and somehow that outlook seems worse than tolerating it. She knows what it's like to be irritated by him, his words, his actions. If she's learned one thing it's to grit her teeth, so that's what she does as she puts the crutch against the dresser and climbs onto the unoccupied side of the bed. She shifts and wiggles. There is no getting comfortable. Olivia can't tell if it's her body or Elliot responsible.

"You wanna sleep?"

She turns her head, looking at him as she's giving the tiniest shrug. "Don't know if I can."

"Want me to go?" he presses on, as if trying to make amends for refusing to leave when she had told him to earlier.

"I don't know that either," she offers, unsure, looking at the ceiling. It's fairly warm in the bedroom but still she's shivering, goosebumps perking up on her arms. She never knows what to say to Elliot but their silences are almost harder to take. "It's chilly in here, don't you think?"

"You want the bedspread? Maybe a sweater?"

"This should do," she assures as he helps spread out the blanket and cover her up. At the same time he changes his position and lies down next to her. A little closer than before, she notices. Olivia doesn't know what to make of it. Turning towards her he exudes an intensity that makes her think he's going to implode any second. She is pretty sure she can hear his teeth grind.

"What is it, Elliot?" She's most likely not going to be able to go back to sleep anytime soon, so she might as well do whatever he's here to do.

He's quiet for what seems like a long time before he finally releases the words into the open. "I don't like how things are between us," he breathes. "And I'm not sure how to change that when we're not…" Olivia hears saliva clicking in his throat as he's swallowing. "I know I'm pissing you off half the time, and the other half you're just tolerating me. I just…-"

Olivia doesn't feel equipped for this conversation. It also feels like Elliot is putting her in a position that isn't entirely fair. There are all these expectations and hopes he has, and he is unhappy when she doesn't share them, partially because she knows better than to trust him, partially because she's so defeated from all the setbacks. And he repeatedly kept things from her. How is she supposed to not be angry?

"You can't put that all on me. You meddle in my life and then decide what information gets to me. You really expect me to be okay with that?"

"No, I do not expect that," he states slowly. "But it was well before that. You don't talk to me, Liv. And I may be wrong for trying to shield you from potentially harmful things but I can't apologize for that. Not when I'm protecting you."

„Who says I need protecting, Elliot?", Olivia pushes past teeth that grind angrily.

„You never thought you needed it. Even if you did, you wouldn't ask for it," he replies, sounding resigned. „But you don't always have to be so strong, Olivia. I am here for you. And it's okay for you to need someone."

„Is this the part where you try your hobby psychoanalytics on me?" Olivia asks cynically, thinking this is what she gets for letting her guard down all these years ago, when she told him she's been alone her entire life. „My shrink did a fine job, don't even go there." She's been over her pathological abandonment issues for what feels like a hundred times with Lindstrom.

„I'm not trying anything on you, but you are just proving my point, Liv," he says, sounding helpless. „You are not alone in this. You and Noah both, why can't you get that inside your head? You're fighting me every step of the way and I get it. I get it…,"

„No, you don't! You don't fucking get it, Elliot," she pushes out before her throat locks.

„I'm telling you when to go to your doctors and which doctor to go to, I'm telling you when to rest, and I watch how much you eat, and it'd piss me off too. But I'm not trying to strip you of your autonomy, Liv. I am looking out for you. I want you to get better." She can feel his gaze on her face, so hot she thinks he's marking her. Her body is rigid on her side of the bed, eyes cast to the ceiling. She can't look at him. She can't, or she'll break.

„You can fight me as much as you want. I'm not going anywhere, Liv," he whispers with conviction and her hands fist the sheet because all she can think is how he already did. And she never would have expected it then. As if Elliot is able to read her mind, he continues. „I know I let you down. I should have been there for you, I should have talked to you when I decided to retire. But I am here now. I'm not going to make the same mistake twice."

The sheet rustles as he's moving closer, his proximity almost scalding. There is nowhere for her to go. Her heart is pounding in her chest, in her ears, in her veins. She wishes for a barrier. The job, his marriage. Anything.

He says all the things she needed to hear, but it's years too late. When he rolls onto his side and puts his hand on her arm, murmuring her name, she realizes it will never not hurt to wish she's more than an elusive thing on his lips.

„Liv…,"

Despite the panic that is coiling around her insides, tears are sliding down her temples. She presses her eyes shut when she can see Elliot in her periphery, unable to take how he occupies so many of her senses at once.

She hates to crack in front him like this, hates how crying in front of him feels like peeling off layers of herself, meant to protect her.

„Want me to turn off the light?"

Olivia nods sharply.

Within two seconds complete darkness blankets the bedroom.

It's astounding that while Elliot knows so little of how her life has been without him, he still knows her so well. She needs places to hide behind. Walls and barriers. Now that she can't keep them up, there's still the dark that will conceal her raw emotions.

Despite her tears, Olivia makes an effort to be silent, pressing her lips together hard. Her jaw quivers so forcefully, she thinks her teeth will chatter.

Elliot thinks it's so easy to accept that he's here...and it's not.

It takes Olivia a few moments to get herself together. It's so quiet in the room, she can hear Elliot breathe. When she speaks, honesty burns in her throat like acid.

„I can't _need_ you," she croaks, thinking he has stopped breathing now because she doesn't hear a thing.

„Why not?"

She swallows, parting her lips. No sound comes out. She freezes when his hand covers hers, finding her so easily even in the pitch-dark of the room. Her heart withers at how much she wants to want him.

„Because when I needed you," she whispers, as his hand holds on tight. „you weren't there." The breath she takes feels like fire.

„No matter what he did to me, I thought all I had to do was hold on just a little longer," she whispers shakily. „You were all I wanted." Finally her voice cracks. „Where were you? The one time I truly needed you, you weren't there, Elliot," she manages. It has never been rational. She knows he was no longer NYPD, he no longer had the resources, the authority. There was no way for him to get to her before everyone else. Even if she had called him, she couldn't have told him where the hell she was exactly. But still it was all she had needed. For Elliot to come for her.

„I know," he says, squeezing her hand.

„You weren't there," she repeats, and it comes easier this time. For once it feels like she can actually breathe.

Suddenly Elliot is all around her. His body rolls up against her side, his chest as solid as the barrier she had tried to maintain a minute or two ago. His face is in her hair, the stubble on his face chafing against her cheek.

"I should have been there," he says with conviction. "I should've come for you." His arm snakes around her waist and for the first time she experiences what it feels like to be held by him when they weren't almost done in, or she's just helped save his wife and baby's lives, or her leg's acting up real bad.

For the first time it is just him holding her.

"I should've come for you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Liv." He pulls her closer, impossibly so. His lips attach to her still moist temple, moving against her as he speaks. "Listen to me," he murmurs. "You need me now. I'm not going to let you down again, you hear me? Not ever again." He flexes his arm and rolls her onto her side and tucks her against him as if she's weightless until they are forehead to forehead, nose to nose.

In his embrace Olivia unravels. Searching for something to hold onto, she finds his shirt and fists it.

"Okay?"

Her throat is tight and dry, and she can't speak. Instead she nods just barely and holds on to him.

Elliot is still there in the morning, holding her.


	18. Same Old Story

**Notes: I hope you guys are doing well in these uncertain, scary times. Please stay safe. Hope this will brighten someones day. Amy - you rock! Thank you, thank you, thank you! **

**...**

"Olivia, how are you today?" Allen the nurse genuinely smiles down at her, his voice more cheerful than the first time they've met. She wonders if he thinks it will somehow brighten her day, deciding it's annoying. This time however, she doesn't let her sour mood show, knowing it's not his fault her life is miserable.

"I'm fine," comes her curt reply.

"Great. Ready for your pre-exam?"

"Do I have a choice?" Olivia asks but doesn't sound hopeful.

"Not really," Allen says sympathetically and watches as she gets up with a tight face to mask the pain. "You'll have to take it up with the Doc, I only do what she tells me to do," he says easily and shrugs mock-helplessly. Although Olivia doesn't smile, she is a little amused. Allen leads her to the exam room, walking more slowly than she suspects his natural pace is so she can keep up.

Once in the exam room they go through the routine Olivia knows from all the doctor's appointments.

"You're running a bit of temperature," Allen tells her. "Have you been feeling poorly?"

"A bit under the weather." She's had a headache for the past couple of days, a sore throat and a clogged nose at night.

"Okay. Everything else looks good to me. I think Dr. Willem-Vasquez should be ready to see you now, otherwise it will only be a few minutes," Allen explains before he takes her to the room the doctor has seen her for the previous appointment. "Do you need anything? A glass of water, maybe?"

"Uh, no thanks," Olivia tells him. Allen is attentive and she feels bad about being so annoyed with him when they first met. It wouldn't surprise her if she was one of his more difficult patients.

"Alright. If that should change don't hesitate to let the Doc know." Allen winks at her and then he's gone, leaving her alone at the office. She's been sitting all morning, and her ass is a little numb. The door has barely closed when the doctor enters, smiling warmly.

"Olivia," she says in greeting, making her way to her chair behind the desk, a file in her right hand. Her hair is pinned up in a bun and she isn't wearing scrubs. Instead she's sporting a white pair of pants and dusky pink t-shirt. She folds her hands on the counter, focusing on Olivia. "It's good to see you. How have you been?"

While Dr. Hader had always seemed kind of distracted, it feels like Dr. Willem-Vasquez is truly taking her time and pays attention.

"A little better," Olivia says truthfully. "I'm no longer nauseous on the new medication." She rubs the side of her thigh absentmindedly.

"That's great. I'm glad to hear it." She opens the file and scans it very briefly. "You hardly lost any weight, 0.4 lbs. I think that's about as much progress as could be expected in terms of holding weight," the doctor says and she sounds like she's genuinely happy.

"I don't have much of an appetite."

"I think that's normal after feeling nauseous for months. Just try eating three small meals for now, give yourself and your stomach some time to adjust. As long as you're not losing worrisome amounts of weight, you're doing fine. Some fluctuation is expected. How's your pain on Percocet? Is there any improvement?"

"It's better but only for about two hours after I've taken it. After that it's about as bad as with Vicodin, maybe a little worse. It's hard to tell."

"Okay," the doctor says and nods but she's looking troubled as she glances at the file again. "We really shouldn't up your dose. I'd like to do some research and consult with a fellow doctor to see what else we could try with medication, so for now let's not change anything. I'd like to take a look at your MRI, show you what I've found." She starts working on the computer, then turns the screen for Olivia and starts pointing at a spot with a pencil.

"So we took an MRI of your lower back and right here it looks like there are narrowings of the nerve root, however it doesn't explain your symptoms and the massive amount of pain you are in."

Disappointedly Olivia nods, lips pressed together in a thin line as she swallows. Of course there is no actual conclusion. In fact it's exactly what she has expected. It shouldn't cause that hollow feeling of depression within.

"I am going to do more research, Olivia," the doctor says with conviction. "I may not know the answer yet but we are going to find it. Unfortunately it is going to take time. Until then I want you to see a physical therapist for what we call 'transformer therapy', which is pilates-based and will strengthen your core and posture. I also think meditation and relaxation techniques could help, there is material I can recommend."

"Ah, I don't think-," she starts and shifts in her chair. "That doesn't really work for me."

"Have you tried it?"

She hasn't for pain but after Lewis in particular Dr. Lindstrom had worked on different relaxation techniques with her to help her settle down before bed or after anxiety attacks. None of it has done anything for her. She failed at trying to shut out all the things that distracted her - the hum of the fridge that was audible in the living room, the quiet ticking of the clock in the bedroom, and most of all her ever racing thoughts.

"I have. With my erm… with help from a different doctor. F-for stress." She deliberately leaves out that it was for post traumatic stress disorder.

"Well, I think that it could be worth giving it another try. What seems to be the issue?"

"Erm… I… I can't really focus on those CDs and breathing techniques-they all just… I guess I'm doing it wrong."

"You're not doing it wrong, Olivia. You're probably just not responding to that particular method of listening to audio. It can help to try and memorize steps for progressive muscle relaxation and not use a CD, work your way down from head to toe, see if that works. Or have someone, a person who can help calm you down by their presence, their voice or both to guide you through a meditation or relaxation technique. It's not going to be a miracle cure but we can find paths for you to walk on and make little steps forward to manage pain or insomnia better."

The doctor is looking at Olivia encouragingly and she gives in with a little nod. It's not going to help, she already knows this, but she won't be told that she was being a difficult patient who refused the help offered to her. If nothing else, it'll at least help keep Elliot off her back. He'll be a happy camper just as long as someone's dedicated to 'trying' things.

"I'll have Allen put together a list of materials, including some articles for you. We'll lend you an acupressure mat, it can be quite uncomfortable for a few minutes but should start feeling much better after. You can use it up to thirty minutes. Many patients use them right before bed as it helps them fall asleep better," Dr. Willem-Vasquez explains. She turns the computer screen back to its original angle and starts typing. "I'd like to see you in," she bobs her head side to side for a moment. "four weeks. See what transformer therapy will do in terms of strength. They need to work on your posture and using both crutches. I'd like to do an examination of both legs after that time to see what's changed so please allow some time. Also bloodwork, I see here that your white count has been slightly elevated last time, which could be lingering from sepsis but I don't want to take any chances here. It could also be a minor infection lingering somewhere. In any case, I want us to monitor you as a whole, not just the leg, as long as things don't add up."

"Okay." While none of it sounds promising, Olivia appreciates the woman's dedication. It's not hard to understand how Elliot was convinced by all the positive reviews he's been talking about before she started seeing Dr. Willem-Vasquez. The woman reminds her of herself, or well...the person she used to be a year ago. Olivia hadn't given up on victims, either, but fought for justice with them until the very end. Unfortunately there wasn't always a worthwhile outcome and Liv fears that it's a fate she'll share.

"You don't sound pleased," Dr. Willem-Vasquez points out, folding her hands, her eyes looking pointedly at Olivia.

Olivia gnaws at the inside of her lower lip, responding with a tiny shrug of her shoulders before taking a labored breath.

"I didn't expect anything when I came here today but…" It's even more disillusioning that she was right about it than she could have anticipated.

"I understand that it must be incredibly, incredibly," Dr. Willem-Vasquez repeats with emphasis, "frustrating that I don't have any answers for you. But pain management is not a sprint, Olivia. I wish I could tell you what's wrong, what causes you to be in so much pain or why your leg is so heavily impacted after your surgery. What I need you to focus on right now is that everything we try-be it in terms of medication, physical therapy, physical exams, more MRI's-will tell us something-even if it only rules things out. Eventually that will help us find answers and a treatment that works."

Liv exhales shakily, her eyes starting to burn with rising tears. She turns her head away and hugs herself, embarrassed with the display of emotions. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," the other woman says in a gentle voice. "It's a lot. And it's not just you, you have a child which only makes things more complicated. But we will figure this out, Olivia. Okay? I need you to give me some time. More than that I need you to focus on physical therapy, even though you felt like it didn't work for you before. And I highly recommend for you to go and seek psychological counseling, as well. There are several support groups for chronic pain patients, too. If you ever feel the need to talk to someone who experiences similar problems, I can refer you to a group close to where you live."

"How's that going to help?" Olivia wonders aloud. It's been hard enough to open up to a therapist, she'll be damned before she's going to do it in a group setting in front of a bunch of strangers again.

"It helps some patients to feel less alone, less isolated with the issues that come with their illnesses and subsequent pain. But I know it's not for everyone. It can't hurt to keep in mind that it's a possibility, though."

Olivia doesn't give any sign of a response, trying to wrap her head around going back to physical therapy.

"Is there anything else you want to discuss? Any problems that arise in your daily routine?"

Olivia pauses, considering if she should say something because she hates how much she is struggling with the most simple daily activities.

"I find it more and more difficult to shower. I have a tub and I get in okay most of the time but even with a anti-slip mat I have trouble getting up."

"That makes sense. I can prescribe a chair. In your case I think one with back and arms will be most helpful. You're living alone, right?"

"Yes."

"Let's go with a light model then so it'll be easy for you to move and lift when your kid needs to take a bath."

"Okay. Thank you."

"If there's anything, don't hesitate to call or drop an email. I'll see you in four weeks, unless there's something you feel needs immediate attention. Remember, you can always make an earlier appointment with Irene. Allen will meet you with the relaxation materials in the waiting area shortly."

Olivia nods briefly, then hangs her head and draws in her bottom lip before clearing her throat and straightening to get up.

"Thank you," she murmurs, grateful, although like before, she's leaving with a hollow feeling inside.

…

When Liv comes out of the building, a rather big cloth bag in one hand, the crutch in the other, the very first thing Fin notices is her gait. Her torso is tilted to the right, she takes slow steps, and her good foot almost seems to drag. Fin checks the traffic before he exits the car.

"Hey, Liv," he greets her, trying to keep his face as cool as his usual demeanor. Quickly he walks around the car to open the door for her.

"Hi. Thanks for picking me up," she says, sounding weary. She's out of breath, making him realize how long it's been since he's last seen her like this. Probably after chasing a perp when they were still working together.

"No problem. You need anythin', all you gotta do is call." His involvement in picking her up from her doctor's office isn't her doing. Stabler had called him a couple of days ago. If Liv had any say in it, he figures she would have taken a cab or an Über. Hell, she probably would have walked, if it meant not having to ask for help. "You doin' alright, Liv?" He takes the bag from her, finding it's not heavy. The tight smile she puts on at the question is solely for his benefit, he thinks.

"Yeah. I'm good," comes her short reply as she steps close to the vehicle and slowly bends over to support herself on the seat.

"You need help with that?"

"I'm good." It's sharp and followed by a rough exhale. "Sorry. Just…"

"It's fine. You got it," he offers easily, although it's painful to watch how much difficulty she has getting into the car.

"Yes. But thank you." When she closes the door, Fin tosses the bag in the back and gets into the driver's seat. The engine roars to life and swiftly the car pulls onto the street. For a few moments there's fat silence in the vehicle.

"Your appointment go okay?"

"Hmm," she hums, looking out the window on the passenger side. "They didn't find much."

"Shit. That sucks."

"I gotta pick up physical therapy, but I think it's a different course of treatment," she explains, her voice uncharacteristically monotone. "She basically insisted I try relaxation methods," she then adds with a curt snort.

"Sounds like that's not up your alley."

"I'd rather she'd prescribe some proper drugs that actually work," she breathes heavily.

"Stabler said they changed your meds. That didn't help?" He glances at Liv quickly, seeing her slowly stretch out her injured leg as she massages the thigh.

"For about two hours, then it's back to normal. Pain's getting worse, too," she looks at him for the first time when they hit the first traffic light. "Probably I'm just imagining that," huffs Liv.

For a moment he just stares at her, torn. He's a cop and technically so is Liv. He waits a few more beats until the light turns green and he's got something else to focus on before he speaks. "Have you tried more unconventional methods?"

"More unconventional than meditation that's supposed to send me in a state of total relaxation?" She jokes with a tight voice before chuckling cruelly.

"Off the record?"

That seems to catch her attention as he can feel her eyes boring into his profile.

"If I wasn't a cop, I'd say I know someone who knows someone who swears that weed's the shit for pain and relaxation," he mentions casually, as if he wasn't discussing illegal drug use with her.

If Liv's appalled by the suggestion, it doesn't show. There is no obvious reaction coming from her, so he deems the situation safe enough to press on.

"Just sayin'."

For a couple of minutes they ride in total silence but next to him Liv is getting fidgety until she finally speaks to him again.

"You wouldn't by any chance know how to… erm," she pauses, clearing her throat. "Never mind."

"How to get your hands on somethin'?"

"Yeah," comes her throaty response, nervousness radiating off of her. If there's ever been proof of how much pain she must be in, this is it. The Olivia Benson he knows would never even think of touching this stuff and here she is, wondering how to get some pot just to make her suffering manageable.

"Don't worry 'bout it, Liv. I got you covered," he says, glancing at her quickly. He can hear her swallow audibly.

"Off the record?" She repeats his words to him. "You're a good friend."

…

She can't believe that she's actually asked her former colleague and friend to supply her with marijuana. She's forty-nine years old and has never taken a drag of a joint. The stuff smelled so nasty, she couldn't even be tempted in college when most of her friends got high regularly. While she's not proud of it one thing is for sure: Olivia is about ready to try anything, as long as she'll get some relief.

She doesn't even care if Fin consumes or only hangs with people that do. When it comes to their personal lives they've always maintained an unspoken rule of don't ask, don't tell.

"You hungry? Because I could eat." They are only seven blocks from her place, and although she doesn't have much of an appetite she realizes she should probably eat something.

"Uh… sure."

"Want me to stop somewhere? What are ya in the mood for?"

"Actually, I have soup at home and I don't think it'll keep for much longer."

"Not 'xactly the burger I imagined, Liv," he smiles at her.

"It's gonna keep Elliot off my back, he insists I eat it."

"How's that going, you and him? He a lot to handle?"

"He's being… Elliot," she shrugs. "I know he means well and I'm glad he's helping out but…" The man is putting his entire life on hold for her, so she shouldn't complain. And yet she wishes he'd give her some room to breathe sometimes.

"Want me to tell him to back off?"

"Tried that. He's ignoring it in typical Stabler fashion," Liv grimaces and makes a sound of discomfort.

"You okay?"

"Fine. I just need my pills." It's past twelve and she's taken her medication at five-thirty this morning, so the pain's going to border on unbearable soon. Olivia silently prays there's going to be a parking space close to the entrance of her building.

By the time they get to her street Olivia is breathing hard, doing her best to keep from groaning out loud with every exhale. "Can you just let me out, I gotta…"

With no questions asked Fin stops the car, looking over at her. "Just leave the bag, I'll meet you inside."

Quickly she nods and unfastens the seatbelt. The screaming pain is starting to make her feel nauseous and it's going to take a good thirty minutes for her meds to kick in. Cold sweat forms on Olivia's forehead and she hopes she's going to make it to the elevator okay. "I'll leave the door open, I might need twenty, thirty minutes," she cautions, planning on staying in her bedroom until she feels better.

"Got'cha."

When it takes Olivia a good minute to get out of the car she is grateful for how uncomplicated Fin is. He's not ordering her to wait and let him help, giving her the time she needs instead. Slowly limping towards the entrance, she hisses underneath her breath, upset with herself for leaving her pills at home.

By the time she gets to her medication, Olivia is no longer able to stand upright. She crashes on her bed and groans, trying to keep her body from tossing. _Thirty minutes_, she tells herself over and over but time seems to crawl. If she wouldn't know Fin's going to be here any minute, she'd allow herself the freedom of sobbing but as it is, she's clamping her jaw shut so tight, it's making her teeth hurt.

Olivia's spent when her body relaxes under the oxy. Closing her eyes she takes a few conscious breaths. All she wants is to stay in bed and not get out until Noah comes home. Fin probably wouldn't even mind if she told him to leave. Enticing as the thought is, she slowly braces herself on her hands and sits up. She's sweaty and could do with a change of clothes but all she does is move to the bathroom to splash some cold water in her face.

Fin sits on her sofa as she returns, looking at her, his concern shining through. Whatever he's thinking about her longer absence, he keeps it to himself.

Olivia slowly limps toward the kitchen, clearing her throat to get the weariness out of her voice. „Can I make you coffee? Something else?"

„Nah, Liv. I'm good."

She gets some water from the fridge, then takes out the small container of broccoli soup. It's uncomfortable to stand, although the oxy kills the worst of the bite in her lower back and leg. She braces against the work top to steady herself as she microwaves the soup, deciding it's less of a strain on her already-exhausted body than moving back and forth between the kitchen and sofa.

Five minutes later she fills the steaming soup into bowls, realizing she needs some help, if she wants it or not. Her good leg is dead, making her wonder how on earth she cut off circulation while on her feet.

"Could you put this on the dining table?"

"Anything else?" Fin is quick to do what she asked while she's trying to get her leg to work.

"Spoons maybe. Over there," she points at the drawer. Sensation slowly returns to her leg and after another brief moment she follows Fin to the dining table. She feels like walking on a bubble.

The soup is good. She's still surprised that Elliot can cook. She finishes half of it before deciding she wants to know more about whoever they brought in as Captain. Fin's her best bet at getting actual answers.

"So, how's the new guy?" Instead of looking at Fin she stares into her bowl.

"He's not you," comes his non-committal reply. "'s acting all tough, pissin' all over the place to mark his territory," he says, pulling a face when Olivia glances up at him. "Doesn't have a knack for vics, if you ask me."

"Sounds like a charmer." She tries not to be affected by this, knowing someone without enough empathy is running SVU now.

"'s not like anyone could fill your shoes, Liv."

„Doesn't really matter anymore, does it?" She asks sadly.

„Does to me."

„Returning was my only plan," Olivia says above a whisper, feeling a lump forming in her throat. „Now I don't even know what's next."

"Maybe it's time that you focus on taking care of yourself, Liv. You got your twenty in, you can retire. Do some advocacy work from home, maybe."

She looks pointedly at Fin and shakes her head slowly. "Can't even do that anymore. I hardly get through the day while not doing anything." She glances away, ashamed of the extent of her weakness when she was so strong once.

„Your focus and ability may be limited, don't mean you can't do nothin', Liv. Just gotta take it slow, girl."

„That's what it means, Fin," she manages wearily, looking back at him with clouded eyes. „I'm in so much pain, I don't function. At all. Some days I hardly get Noah ready for school in time and that's almost two hours already. By the time he leaves the house I'm so exhausted, I can hardly pick myself back up from the couch. I c- I can't think most of the time, I don't sleep more than two, three hours most nights. Can't really take care of the apartment, either," she mumbles, glancing around. „Elliot can be a lot but without him I'd sink in dirt and clutter. Work is… is out of the question." Saying it all out loud is the first time she realizes how quickly she's deteriorating. Around the time she quit therapy she still managed tidying up and cleaning, taking care of herself. Now, without Elliot taking care of everything, she'd be lost.

„Man, Liv, that's rough. There's gotta be something they can do."

„Nothing helped that the last three doctors found. At least this new one's still looking but I doubt she'll be able to help much more than she has with the new medication."

„You know we're all here for you, Liv. If there's anything we can do to help…"

„Thanks Fin," she says, her voice thick, knowing there's not much that they can help with. But she appreciates their willingness, knows all she's got to do is ask and they'll be there.

„Noah doin' okay?"

„As okay as you can expect under the circumstances. He's scared. And I'm no good at telling him it's gonna be all right. Elliot's trying to pick up the pieces but…" God, she hates how it sounds as much as she hates that it's completely true. El's picking up the pieces, he's making sure Noah still gets to have a little fun and is distracted when she's at her worst both physically and emotionally.

„It's not working?"

„I don't know," she admits. „We're waiting so he can start counseling at the end of next month." Her heart breaks knowing her son needs counseling because of her at all, that her health condition aside, she's not able to give him enough emotional stability to cope with the changes. Olivia hopes Noah will like the child psychologist and they don't have to keep looking for someone else. „I'm really messing this up."

„You're a great mom, Liv," Fin tells her earnestly.

„I'm a disaster," she retorts in a flat tone.

„I messed up real bad with Ken, so I know when someone's a disaster. You ain't it, Liv. Even battling this you'll find your groove. Just gon' take time, is all."

He gets up, looking at the soup bowls. „Mind if I clean this up?"

She does actually, but she's too tired to do it on her own. She just admitted to Fin that she's incapable of doing the easiest tasks, so what does it matter if she lets him? Defeated she nods at the dirty dishes. „Knock yourself out."

…

The metallic taste of blood is the first thing Olivia registers. It seems to pool in her mouth like saliva when she's getting sick. Or maybe she is getting sick, she thinks, as she slowly tries to lift her head. Moaning, she braces on her hands in a weak attempt to push her torso up from the ground. Her head hurts as she moves it and, whimpering, she closes her eyes. She manages to regain head control at the second attempt and spits out the blood in her mouth. She opens her eyes and there's offensive crimson on pure white. There's so much blood. Too much.

She hit the ground so suddenly, she couldn't even cry out. Her jaw explodes in pain and she wonders if she's broken something. Touching her chin with two fingers, Olivia finds it is wet, then realizes blood is dripping from it. Slowly it dawns on her that she split her chin open.

"Shit," she groans quietly. More blood accumulates in her mouth and from the feel of it she assumes she must have bitten her tongue. Gradually the rest of her body starts to hurt. Her teeth and head first, then her hands, her knees, one elbow. She cups her hand over the cut, trying to catch the blood. It takes a while until she gets into a sitting position which allows her to reach the towel. She presses the cloth to the cut on her chin but it does little to stop the bleeding. Head and face wounds bleed like crazy, and she knows it most likely looks worse than it is.

She tries to think despite her throbbing head, coming to the conclusion she needs to pull herself together despite the burn of unshed tears and check out the injury.

Scooting against the tub she tries to focus on something else than the taste of blood in her mouth. It's the taste of Harris and Lewis. It's the taste of utter terror and despair, that sentiment of being a caged animal, ready to do anything, _anything_ for survival. Suddenly she feels physically sick, spitting another mouthful of blood and saliva out before taking a ragged breath. She sits against the tiles and closes her eyes for a few moments, feeling too woozy to stand up.

Eventually Olivia manages to pull herself together. She takes a few conscious, cleansing breaths and slowly gets up in a standing position. She reaches for the crutch, using her free hand to staunch the wound with the towel. The banged up knee makes her limp worse. In the mirror she inspects the gash on her chin that's still bleeding more than she would like.

Holding the cloth to the cut she first notices she's got streaks of blood all over her torso, making her look nothing short of Carrie.

"Damn," she whispers, then takes a look at the wound that is still bleeding. She tilts her head up, inspecting the split closely, realizing she definitely needs stitches. First of all she needs to sit though, because she's trembling like a leaf now that the initial shock is wearing off.

Logistics are her priority now. She needs to get cleaned up and for that she needs to sit. The toilet is too far to reach the sink and although a shower would be the quickest option there's no way in hell she'll get back into the tub and risk another nosedive. To get a chair she'll need to leave the bathroom and face Noah, possibly even ask him to help her and she can't go with blood all over her without further traumatizing her child.

No matter how she looks at it, she'll have to grit her teeth. Sit and calm down. Stop the bleeding. Get cleaned up. First she should call someone who can take her to the ER and take care of Noah while they stitch her up, though. First instinct is to ask Rollins, but dragging two kids to the hospital is out of the question. Which leaves Fin and Elliot, and while she would prefer Fin, she knows that Elliot will be better with a potentially shaken up Noah.

Olivia takes it slow despite her anxiety over Noah seeing something he shouldn't. She manages to slow down the bleeding and, with some difficulty gets herself and the mess on the floor cleaned up so only a couple of blood stained towels remain in the tub. She puts a bandaid on her knee and a bigger patch across her entire chin, deciding that looks much better than the gaping wound.

Another five minutes and she is dressed, ready to face her son and get him ready as well. He's curled up on the sofa, watching cartoons, and while he's distracted she decides to get an Über and call El.

Olivia retreats to her bedroom, quietly closing the door as she dials Elliot. He sounds groggy with sleep as he picks up, which isn't surprising around eight on a Sunday morning.

„Hello?"

„Hey. El," Olivia starts slowly. „Sorry to call so early but, erm…" Her voice is low and insecure.

„Liv?" Suddenly he sounds wide awake and alarmed. „What happened?" He knows how out of character it is for her to call him at all, especially this early on the weekend.

She swallows, realizing her voice is as shaky as her bruised leg when she speaks to explain. „I, erm… I have a bit of a situation here. I, I fell and split my chin open," she exhales when she can hear him gasp.

When he was alarmed before, he's plain panicked now.

„You what?" He speaks more abruptly, and she can hear his sheets rustling. „Are you okay?"

„Yes, I'm… fine. A little banged up. I'm pretty sure I need stitches, though."

„Stitches?" It sounds like he's erratically moving around. „I'll be there as quickly as…"

„No, wait. I got an Über in twenty. Can you meet us in the ER and stay with Noah when I'm going in?"

„An Über. Okay. Um… okay. Yeah, I'll meet you there. You're sure you're all right?" Elliot inquires, worried.

„I'm good. Oh, and if you could get something for Noah to eat? He only had some cereal an hour ago and…"

„Food. I got it. If there's anything, promise to call, Liv. Please."

„I will," she agrees, then hangs up, mentally preparing herself as she walks back to the living room. Noah, clutching his favorite cuddly toy, is engrossed in his cartoon until she sits down next to him. His big, blue eyes settle on the patch across her chin inquisitively and she speaks just before he does.

„Hey, sweet boy, mommy's got an owie, and I think I need the doctor to look at it. How about you go and pick two small toys and your favorite book for Elliot to read to you? Does that sound good?"

„How did you get the owie?" He wonders worriedly.

„Do you remember how the last time Elliot took you to the playground you tripped and hurt your knee?" Olivia asks softly, forcing a tight smile that hurts terribly for Noah, continuing as her little boy nods. „The same thing happened to me. Only I hurt my chin."

„Can I see it?"

„Not right now, but I'm gonna show you later, okay? Now let's pick what you want to take."

„Does it hurt, mommy?"

„Only a little bit." She gets up and luckily Noah follows suit.

„Like when I hurted my knee?"

„Exactly."

…


	19. Xanny

**Notes: Alright, here's Chapter 19 and it gets more and more depressing so please think wisely if you can deal with the mention of possible self-harm and suicidal tendencies. It gets worse before it gets better. Chapter 20 is already written and dun dun - we'll make some REAL progress story wise in chapter 21. Dear guest reviewer, I know none of this is a fast ride but there's a lot in the details. If it is too slow for you, that's totally fine - I'm sure you'll be better off moving on. Thank you for your feedback, though! **

**Gratitude goes out to the wonderful Amilyn for being the best Beta who brainstorms with me for hours and helps make the crappy parts better. You are an angel! **

**Oh also? This is the part where you're welcome to guess what the hell it is Liv is suffering from. Medical mystery, ya'll!? **

**Stay safe and healthy! Oh, and review. Always review. The good, the bad, the ugly. Mostly though: Enjoy the sadness. **

**...**

It feels like a lifetime ago since she was last in this office, seated in the once comfortable leather chair with Lindstrom's eyes trained on her. Nothing much has changed here, and yet everything is different. He looks at her differently now too, she thinks. Even in her emotionally most unstable moments Olivia had never perceived an ounce of pity coming from him and now it makes her skin crawl uncomfortably. She knows it when she sees it. She sees it all the time these days.

After several flashbacks and subsequent nightmares, all in three days, Olivia had made an appointment with Lindstrom.

"You said you didn't have flashbacks for a long time. What do you believe triggered that reaction?"

Avoiding the doctor's gaze Olivia slowly shakes her head with small movements as she inhales nervously. "Ah, I... I fell and I bit my tongue," she starts hesitantly, saliva pooling in her mouth like the blood did a few days ago. "And there was blood. In my mouth, on me, on the… on the floor." She swallows and closes her eyes, her facial muscles twitching briefly before she opens them again. "That taste," she whispers, her voice hoarse. "When he… hit me and…" She trembles, stiff with reticence.

"Take your time," Lindstrom encourages, his pen hovering just above his notepad.

"He'd hit me, backhanded me with my gun in his hand across my… my right cheek." Absently, Olivia touches her fingers to the spot, pushing until she feels the row of upper teeth beneath. She told him this before, probably more than once. It isn't easier. "And the blood was… pooling under my tongue, and it was that distinct taste," she looks at him now, her nose curling as she frowns. "It tastes different than… bleeding gums or biting your tongue by mistake," she whispers.

"What does it taste like then, Olivia?" he asks evenly.

She wonders how it is possible that something that shakes her to the core leaves somebody else unaffected. For a few moments she falters, then she exhales, ragged.

"It tastes like him," she croaks despondently. "It tastes like Lewis," she breathes, her mouth staying open, jaw quivering.

Lindstrom, focused solely on her, nods carefully. "Your flashbacks, what are they about?"

"Snippets. Sometimes just a word. My name. The feeling of his touch, the smell of his breath. The...sound of duct tape being pulled off my mouth. I thought-," she swallows again and worries her bottom lip briefly. "I had much worse flashbacks then, but it's… these are making me anxious. I didn't have nightmares like these before, either."

"Tell me about them."

"They are happening to me, but they don't feel like he's doing it to me. I'm standing there, watching myself as he does all these things, and I can move but I don't do anything. I'm just…frozen, watching."

"Okay. And how do you think that ties to yourself or Lewis?"

Olivia licks her lower lip and hugs herself. "I let it happen. I let my guard down and let him get to me."

"You walked into your own home, how is that letting your guard down, Olivia?"

"Something felt off," she breathes, closing her eyes. "I know we've been over this but it always comes back to this moment. Something felt off," she repeats. "And I didn't respond... in time," she adds, voice trembling.

"You did not let this happen, Olivia. It was not your fault there was nothing you could do when he had you tied up on a chair, in a trunk, to a bed-"

"I wet the bed," she blurts out suddenly, tired of the back and forth when this is so much of why she scheduled an appointment. She could deal with flashbacks, even with the nightmares with the changed narrative.

"Okay," Lindstrom says calmly, and Olivia can see a hint of surprise swimming in the blue of his eyes.

"Twice," she adds before falling quiet with embarrassment. It had happened once before, in the immediate aftermath of her kidnapping by Lewis when she didn't get instant counseling. But then she had all too real nightly terrors she woke up from screaming for her life. These nightmares don't compare, and she had a lot more compassion for herself then than now. What's left all these years later is utter mortification and disgust.

It disrupts her already unhealthy sleeping habits. The fear of another instance of nocturnal incontinence fortifies her depression and hypervigilance. She's extremely anxious, using the bathroom several times although she doesn't have to. Utter distress is keeping her awake until she can't keep her eyes open and dozes off.

The first time, just a couple of nights after managing to survive Lewis, she was able to comprehend why it was happening after talking about it in therapy-at least somewhat. She was at his mercy, unable to make any choices over what was happening to her at all, how her body subsequently reacted. She had peed herself after several hours in that trunk, her bladder giving out while she was still fuzzy with the effects of alcohol and drugs. And Lord knows there were moments during her captivity in which she felt sheer terror to the point where she was convinced she was going to piss herself from nothing but fear, moments where she didn't dare blink or breathe, wondering what dehumanizing cruelties Lewis would come up with next.

That accident then...it was likely a mirror image of the helplessness she felt after having been stripped off all control. She was dependent on Lewis' good will to use a bathroom, and he hadn't let her more than once a day. But now? All these years later, she cannot make sense of it.

While Olivia is apprehensive to talk about it even to her psychologist, she hopes that not internalizing the problem will be of help.

"Olivia. Olivia?" he asks, and she snaps out of her thoughts to focus on him. "Do you mean just after Lewis or now?"

Her mouth is still partially open, and yet it is incredibly hard for her to speak. She closes it, then opens it again, repulsed by the answer she is going to give him.

"Now." She casts her eyes downward, avoiding to look at him as shame tints her cheeks dark pink. It has a firm hold on her even when Lindstrom tries to reassure her.

"Olivia, you know this is a safe space for you to talk about anything. There's nothing to be ashamed about."

"I just don't understand," she breathes out, head pulled into her shoulders as far as physically possible. "The… the taste of blood triggering flashbacks and nightmares - I can make that connection. But this?" Putting her hands together she shoves them between her thighs and shakes her head.

"You said the nightmares in particular are different. Could you talk about that?"

"In the past they always felt very real. Like I was going through it. He was speaking to _me_, hurting _me_, touching _me. _Now," she stops, exhaling shakily. "It's like I'm standing by, watching him doing these things to a… shell. It's me but then it isn't," she explains. "And I'm not doing anything, I want to tell her-that shell me, whatever it is-to _do something_ but nothing comes out of my mouth, and he just keeps going and going."

"Doing what?"

"Cutting, biting, burning." she says quietly, then presses her eyes shut. "Assault."

"You're right there and yet there's nothing you can do about any of it?"

"Yes," Olivia agrees, pulling her hands back out, intertwining them tightly on her lap, starting to feel more anxious discussing this.

"Olivia, you seemed to struggle when you came here, and it looks like you can't get comfortable."

"Well, obviously." She briefly glances at the crutch, then at her leg.

"Can you talk about how you feel about that? About your body? Your control of it?"

Slowly Olivia cocks her head and looks at Lindstrom crookedly. "This is not about that. This is about him," she says with conviction.

"Okay," Lindstrom says calmly, shifting in his seat. "Dare I say your dreams suggest an increased level of dissociation from your body? You no longer feel in control of yourself so you are watching, helpless, as things are being done to it?"

"I was never in control in any of these situations, you know that."

"But were you, as you put it, a shell?" he presses, not backing off, watching her closely.

"You think I'm feeling trapped in my body," she squeezes her injured leg, glancing at it momentarily. "Because my leg is useless and no matter what, I can't do anything about it. Fine," she says stubbornly. "I fail to see how that would cause me to…," she swallows, not willing to say it out loud again.

"You must experience increasing stress, Olivia. Your accident," his eyes briefly settle on the stitches on her chin. „May have caused flashbacks and the dreams but the change of perspective speaks to a feeling of helplessness and lack of control." He pauses to let her catch up. „Studies have linked depression and anxiety to urinary incontinence in women especially. However, I suggest you see a doctor as well just to rule out any physical problems."

For long seconds Olivia says nothing, Lindstrom's words sinking in. She wants to argue but knows, deep down, that he's most likely right. She scoffs but it's a sad sound. „Great. This is just a gift that keeps on giving then, isn't it?" God, she wants to cry. „So I'm trapped in this, is that what you are saying? Trapped with this useless thing, with the, the pain, Lewis… the bed wetting…" Digging her nails into her palm she shakes her head. This nightmare is never going to end. „This has to stop," she pleads. „I can't… I can't wake up like that again."

„I understand the incontinence in particular is a stressor. One thing you can try is to find ways that make you feel more in control about leaks. Using an absorbent pad may help to make you feel more confident."

„Why? Because it keeps my mattress clean?" She challenges bitterly. „I can't deal with this on top of everything else," she whimpers, embarrassed over showing such weakness.

„Because feeling positively about being protected may be beneficial to solving the problem. If you feel more in control, there's a possibility it will help reduce the frequency of the dreams. It may not make a difference, but do you feel there's any harm in trying it?"

"I guess I could try," she gives in defeatedly because what else is she supposed to say even though she's having a feeling it won't be that simple.

Lindstrom looks at her for a moment, then folds his hands while still holding his pen. "Olivia, have you considered medication to help with your anxiety lately? I know you were averse to trying psychotropic drugs because of the job, but maybe it's time you reevaluate your stand on it."

Looking up at him, a couple of tears roll down her cheek, and she worries her bottom lip.

"But with my pain medications… I'm on oxycodone," she protests insecurely, having heard about how the combination can have horrible side effects.

"The psychiatrist I work with can evaluate your current medication and prescribe something without adverse interactions."

Swallowing Olivia just stares at the man without really seeing him. There is no more reason for her to be hesitant about trying the drugs. She's already lost everything, she might as well pop one more pill. "Fine," she accepts.

…

"Olivia, it's good to see you," Dr. Willem-Vasquez greets her warmly, then directs a warm hello towards Elliot as she sits down behind the desk. "I only see one crutch," the blonde points out, looking at the walking aid, then at Olivia.

"I've tried with both," she reasons. "It made the back aches escalate, so I stopped after a couple of days."

"I see." The doctor folds her hands, nodding once. "Before the physical exam and discussing the PT report I'd like to know how things have been going for you since your last visit. I see something happened to your chin, there?" The stitches were removed a week ago but the scar is still prominent.

"I fell as I got out of the tub. I was certain I had lifted my leg enough but my foot caught on the edge and I went down before I knew it."

"Does that keep happening? That it's getting caught?" the blonde asks, intrigued.

"Elliot got me a board so I can get in and out sitting, so that erm… helps." She'd given him hell for the purchase although she knew it was smart with the safety issues of her previous approach.

"Great. You gained a little bit of weight, which is fantastic," the doctor points out, looking up from Olivia's file.

From her periphery, she sees Elliot smiling proudly, even if it's less than 2 lbs. It's his doing more than hers since he was the one fixing most of her meals. She still doesn't have much of an appetite, but she's trying more for Elliot's and Noah's sake.

"How's the pain? Any changes?"

"It's not better."

"It seems to me it's getting worse," Elliot offers.

"Is that correct, Olivia?"

"It's… when I move, it's pretty bad and I've been cramping a lot for the past four days," she admits, knowing otherwise Elliot will disclose the information himself. "I've taken two more pills on some days," she shifts uncomfortably and swallows. "I've also… erm… taken Xanax for the past week."

"I assume that means you've picked up psychological counseling?"

"I'm seeing my therapist twice a week for… anxiety and… depression."

The doctor's dark brown eyes soften and she leans in a little closer across the desk. "I'm glad to hear that, Olivia. That certainly is a step in the right direction. Did you, by any chance, try the relaxation techniques?"

„I've found the acupressure mat to be helpful since trying it out last week. It helps to settle my anxiety in the evening."

„That's wonderful news. If it helps you, keep it for now," she pulls the PT report from the thin folder, her face turning more serious. „I'd like to go over the report your therapist sent, so if you'd rather we discuss it just between the two of us…"

Elliot glances at her nervously. No doubt has he picked up on the doctor's change in behavior as she pulled the report.

„It's fine, he can stay."

„Okay," the blonde starts, looking at Olivia compassionately. „You've been to physical therapy for the past four weeks and despite those seven appointments, unfortunately, there have been no positive developments. You seemed to experience more difficulty with most of the exercises within the last three visits. Your core strength and posture were two of the things you worked on. I'm afraid both decreased, which is very alarming."

For a moment it's like the doctor dropped a bomb and they all just stand there staring at the debris left.

„W-what do you mean, it decreased?" interjects Elliot, frustrated. „How is that even possible?"

Olivia whimpers weakly, but after the news she's unable to tell him not to start anything.

„Honestly? I am not sure," she replies, then focuses on her patient. „I'd like to examine and palpate your legs and lower back, before discussing further steps."

Olivia's stunned. The doc and Elliot drive the conversation along like their world keeps turning when hers just came to a complete standstill. She's getting worse, and for weeks-who is she kidding, months-she's felt it with increasing pain, more frequent cramps, more difficulties in movement. Now it sounds like her situation is even more hopeless than she could have imagined when Elliot first dragged her here.

Telling herself she tried doesn't stop her blood from whooshing in her ears. Maybe, it flashes in her mind, Lindstrom has been on point with this, too. Her bed wetting is most likely her psyche responding to the increasing loss of control she has over body. While she used to hold onto things, it seems now she lets go. She has no control over anything whatsoever, does she? Even following all orders, making an effort, doesn't benefit her health. Her legs? Aren't responding to PT. Her bladder? Keeps on giving out several nights a week. Her depression and anxiety?

Well, her new friend Xanny is hardly going to contain anything after this jeremiad.

„Olivia?"

Swallowing, she casts her eyes upwards until the other woman comes into view and gives a single nod in response, although she has no idea why the exam would change anything. It'll probably just bring more bad news.

…

She finds herself alone in a relaxation room on an acupressure mat. Her body is rigid, struggling against the nubs pressing against her back. The discomfort isn't as prominent as when she is lying on the mat without a shirt on but still every muscle in her body is tense.

It's funny how a week ago, Olivia stared at the small orange pill bottle like it was the enemy, reluctant to try benzos. There is nothing wrong with needing help with psychotropic drugs, she'd never stigmatize others for taking them. Thing is - she never wanted it for herself. She prided herself on being strong enough to deal without them after Lewis, as if giving in to Lindstrom's suggestion would have been a sign of personal weakness.

She had taken the first pill grudgingly and now here she is, wanting nothing more than the comfort of Xanax. The anxiety has a firm grip on her as Dr. Willem-Vasquez words keep going through her head. Olivia is getting more tense and restless by the minute. Her heart is racing and she can't get enough air as the worry eats her up.

Physical therapy isn't working. Her strength is decreasing instead of increasing. The doctor's highly focused and unusually taught face during the exam of her legs wasn't reassuring, either. In fact, the more Olivia thinks about it, it's deeply unsettling.

The physical examination was nothing short of being dragged through hell and back. It was time consuming and energy-sapping, but nothing could have prepared Olivia for the excruciating pain brought on by the palpation and tests. To say it by help of the doctor's traffic light system: there was nothing but red. Frailly, she had groaned and hissed, then cried, and eventually shrieked several times, reaching her breaking point. While the doctor had been deeply sympathetic last visit, she had hardly tried to reassure Olivia this time, only muttering how she was sorry twice. Thinking about red, the lack of communication is probably a red-flag, too.

They gave her a shot for the pain after stripping her of what was left of her dignity, and the drugs are starting to work. The anxiety, however, has her on edge to the point where she thinks she's going to have another panic attack.

If she gets worse and worse, and there's nothing they can do - then what is going to happen to her? What is going to happen with Noah?

For months she had hoped she was only imagining moving around getting harder, the pain getting worse, or how she's overall been feeling much weaker than before. She wonders if her physical, and with it her mental, condition keep on deteriorating, what does that mean for her? Is she going to end up in a wheelchair, unable to walk at all?

Her cheeks start tingling, followed by her palms, making her feel nauseous. Erratically Olivia tries to breathe as tears slide down her temples. She can't keep doing this. She can't take any more of this never-ending nightmare. It feels like she's stuck in a gigantic maze with no actual way out.

How can she do this to the people around her if she's going to become more and more of a burden? How can she possibly do this to her son? Noah deserves so much more, so much better than her.

Hope, even while thinking she's no longer had any, has been an elusive thing. It is now slipping through her fingers, like quicksand and the last instincts to fight liquify with it.

Life has never been more abhorrent to her.

With her fingertips against her cheek she tries to feel something. Beneath her hands she's numb, but deep within that familiar ache settles in her bones, creating nothing but friction in between.

Her leg is blissfully quiet from the injection and yet she's here, in her cage with her ball and chain. Her leg. Maybe they should have cut it off, she thinks for the very first time. It couldn't have been worse than this, could it?

The more tears fall, the more fatigued Olivia feels. Her body no longer fights to defy the acupressure mat. Her blood starts rushing rhythmically through where her body touches the spikes. It's a unique, soothing sensation, warming her entire system. Her volatile breathing pattern evens out and she feels herself relax, although tears are still streaking down from her temples into her hair.

The doctor has sent Elliot away to go for coffee or tea, maybe get something to eat, as the physical exam was going to be more extensive. She wonders if he's back by now. More than that she wonders if now he's finally done being optimistic.

Allen comes to get her after what feels like an eternity. Elliot is there in the hallway and the way he looks at her is telling. She must look like shit.

"Hey, how's it been going?" He asks, his voice unusually gentle.

"I don't know anything yet," Olivia replies wearily.

"Are you alright?" he inquires, leaning in closer although Allen gives them some room.

Her face hardly gives anything away as her eyes find his until the corners of her lips twitch and tilt downward, her eyes glistening with tears. "It really hurt." Her voice cracks at the last word. Instantly Elliot pulls her in and tugs her against his chest. His voice permeates her ear as he mutters.

"I'm sorry, Liv." He squeezes her just barely, his lips grazing her temple before she feels him press them against the patch of skin for a brief moment.

The doctor stands at the end of the hallway, in front of her office, watching the display of affection before she calls out to the nurse and gives him a sign, apparently letting him know she's ready to see Olivia because next Allen leads them back to the examination room.

They both walk inside and for once she doesn't mind that Elliot helps her to navigate the narrow space between the chairs and desk. She allows him to guide her by the arm, to take the crutch. She doesn't even want to whack him across the head when he quietly asks if she's comfortable like this. Maybe right now she needs some tenderness, some caretaking.

"I'm sorry it took so long, I wanted to confer with a colleague first. I hope you're feeling better, Olivia? I know it's been…." It seems even the doctor can't find appropriate words about what has transpired about an hour ago. "Did the medication help with the pain?"

"It's much better, thank you," she says politely, but she's completely spent, grateful to have Elliot by her side as her ears.

"Okay. So the things I could see from the exam is that you have lower muscle tone, definite signs of atrophy. I can also confirm what the physical therapist concluded, you have lower levels of strength. Your muscle weakness explains the increased drop foot, which is most likely responsible for your fall from the tub when your foot didn't clear the edge. Your pain today, just from when I was palpating your left leg, is quite clearly much more intense than on your first visit," she pauses briefly and Olivia tries to wrap her head around it all. "And quite honestly, it puzzles me. What I would like to do is order a myelogram with dye contrast because I want to see if it'll show more in terms of nerve compression than the MRI."

"All right, so how does that procedure work? I've never heard of it, I don't think," Elliot asks, looking from her to the doctor.

"Right. Myelography allows us better evaluation of the spinal cord, nerve roots and spinal lining. The duration of the procedure is about one hour. Since dye will be injected in the spinal cord, you'll need to have someone to pick you up, Olivia," the doctor explains, looking at her directly. „Irene at the desk will give you some information and preparation material so you'll know what to expect, same as with the MRI. If you agree I'll schedule an appointment. They should be able to get you in this week."

„And you… ah… you think that's going to show more than the MRI?" Olivia asks flatly, doing her best to follow.

„I hope so. I think it's our best shot without being too invasive. I know it's hard to hear how things didn't get better but we will figure this out, okay? I am not giving up on you and neither should you. This is not the end."

"Isn't it?" Olivia asks, her voice husky and close to cracking under the weight of... everything. "Because ever since this started, there hasn't been any progress." There's a part of her that needs to hear the confidence in Dr. Willem-Vasquez words, while another can hardly deal with what are most likely empty promises. "Since day one I was willing to fight and I thought: For sure this can't get any worse. But it is," she manages throatily, lowering her head. "All the time." Elliot's hand is on her back, his thumb stroking her affectionately. Shakily, Olivia exhales and rubs her hand across her forehead.

"I understand. But there has been progress that you can be very proud of. You actually gained some weight, you are giving your body the nutrition it needs to help you in this time. Let's do the myelogram and take it from there, okay?"

She has given up already so when she nods, the movement of her head just barely visible, she doesn't mean it. "Okay."

…

She fiddles with the sheets as she's staring at nothing in particular. She's tired. So, so tired of… everything. She always feels either trapped and overwhelmed, like she's unable to cope with another setback, her leg cramping, taking another fall… or hopeless with another inconclusive result.

And then, like now, she feels nothing at all, and while that used to be scary it is now oddly comforting. She starts to yearn for these moments of emptiness. There's no guilt in this place, and most of the time she's carrying a lot of it. For disrupting everyone's life, especially Elliot's. For not being the parent she should be and causing her son so much pain. What kind of future is Noah looking at, burdened with an incapacitated mother? He's four now, but he'll grow older, and one day her care will fall back onto him. What kind of life is that going be?

Her shame is overwhelming these days, too. For gradually needing more assistance when she used to be independent and strong. For going back to therapy when she thought Lewis would never get the upper hand again. For wetting the bed two, three nights a week.

She wonders what they would think if they knew. The mere idea of anyone finding out about it sends her into a state of sky-high anxiety. Purchasing the absorbent pads at the store was one of the most humiliating moments of her life. She's hiding the soiled chucks in a garbage bag in the back of her closet because Elliot's the one taking out her trash. She's getting more paranoid by the day that he could find them or smell something despite the promise that the product locks in any odor. She's so utterly disgusted with what she's become. She just wants it to stop. All of it.

Clearly Noah would be better off without her. They all would. She's nothing but a liability these days. Alive but worthless. Physically here but wasting away.

They deserve better.

She deserves better.

Pulling her legs up towards her chest, Olivia shifts her body and rolls up in a fetal position, her gaze landing on her nightstand. The orange bottle of percocet stares back at her.

What would happen if she took them all?

She swallows although there is no saliva in her mouth. Her heart starts galloping in her chest. It's wrong. She knows it is. She shouldn't entertain such thoughts. It's not healthy. It should scare the shit out of her.

Oddly she's not scared at all. Her heart may be racing but this idea has a calming effect on her.

Maybe she'd fall asleep, lose consciousness, and just… stop breathing. In her imagination it's peaceful. Quiet.

_Or_, a more sane voice in her head whispers, _you'll puke all over your bed and choke on your own vomit. Or, worse yet, end up a vegetable after multi-organ failure. _

She turns on her back, rubs a hand over her face that feels prickly all of a sudden and exhales shakily.

If she were to do this…

Her head starts spinning. She shouldn't think these thoughts but they keep coming.

If she were to do this, she better make sure she won't wake up again. Take the percocet. Throw in the Xanax. Benzos and oxy don't make for a good cocktail, everybody knows that.

_You should know better. You resent your mother for being so selfish and choosing her escape over you and in the end it killed her. You hated her for being so weak, for not putting you first. Do you really want to do the same thing to your son? Abandon him so you find your peace? Sounds like he really deserves better. Somebody's going to find you. It's either Elliot, or it's Noah. Sound appealing? _

No longer calm, Olivia rubs her hand across her mouth, feeling the anxiety starting to spread in her veins. With it comes a wave of breathtaking nausea. This is not good. This is a huge red flag and she knows what the right thing to do would be: Tell someone.

It's Prevention 101, after all. Hell, she repeated it back to victims hundreds of times. She is highly aware of the danger these thoughts pose. This was more than a fleeting thought, this was a plan including the means and opportunity. The only thing that's missing is the intention. And she's halfway there.

She doesn't want to kill herself. She just wants to feel better.

Nervously she starts wringing her hands. Then there's a knock on the door and Olivia almost jumps out of her skin. The door opens and Elliot leans against the frame. Her eyes are wide and it feels like he just caught her doing the unthinkable but just to be sure she looks at her hands, finding them empty.

"Hey, dinner's ready," he says softly.

She wonders if he knows but if he does, he doesn't let on.

"Ah… I'm not… I don't think I can eat." Not when she's still nauseous.

"Are you sure? It's spaghetti," he says as if it would do the trick it always does on her son.

"Yeah. Maybe erm… maybe later," she gives although she doesn't mean it. Elliot nods once and that's enough for her.

"You gonna join us at the table, though?" He rubs the back of his neck, looking at her hopefully. She'd go, if only for Noah's sake, but right now she can't even move.

"I've got a headache so I'd rather…"

"All right. Get some rest. I'll tuck him in before I leave then."

"Thanks," she whispers and sees him direct a small smile at her that doesn't reach his steel-blue eyes. He pulls back and starts to close the door. "El, wait?"

He stops and pops his head in again. "Need some water?"

"No, I…" she swallows and glances away shortly. "I was just wondering… could you maybe stay here tonight? Please?" She sounds small but the truth is, she knows for sure she's not going to do anything stupid as long as he's around, and right now she doesn't trust herself. She doesn't think she's a severe suicide risk. But then, this morning, she never would have believed she'd entertain such thoughts, at all. She may not be ready to let him in on it, but she wants to do something that'll give her a sense of safety until her appointment with Lindstrom tomorrow.

She thinks Elliot is thrown, because he's looking at her like she's going to change her mind any second. Of course she doesn't usually ask for things, least of all for him to stay with her.

"Sure. If you want, I'll stay." He waits a few beats before he adds: "Any time you want, I'll stay."

She nods and draws her bottom lip in for a moment. "Thanks."

"Try to get some sleep if you can," he encourages, and she nods, although she knows it's not going to happen.

The injection is still working its miracles in terms of pain, and if things were any different she'd take that advice and get a couple of hours in. However, it seems she has yet another problem to address. God, she's tired.


	20. Takes Too Much

**This is the last one before the conclusion of what the hell's going on - guesses are STILL welcome with this final clue. This chapter comes with a WARNING for suicidal thoughts and depression. **

**That being said, I hope all of you guys are doing well. **

**Amy - I bow down to you. You're a wonderful beta, an even more wonderful friend. **

**..**

"All right, buddy, you be good for Amanda, promise? Sounds like it's going to be a super fun weekend," Elliot tells Noah after double checking if the seatbelt is fastened correctly.

"I promise," the boy agrees excitedly.

Noah's been looking forward to spending the night with Jesse and Frannie all week. They all had agreed that it would be best to get the little one out of the apartment so Olivia could get some rest after the myelogram this afternoon.

"Have fun then. I'll see you Saturday, champ." He ruffles the boy's head of full hair affectionately, smiling at him brightly before closing the door. Amanda stands, leaning against the closed door of the driver's side, arms crossed.

"Thanks for taking him." It is for the best as it seems Olivia's more depressed than ever, even though she tries not to let it show too much when Noah is around.

"No problem. How's Liv holdin' up?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure. Never thought I'd say this, but I'm glad she's seeing her therapist and taking something for the depression at least. And at the same time that's scary because… Olivia's taking drugs to help depression. It's…" He shakes his head, trying to comprehend it. "She just needs to see some progress and right now it's…," he exhales and shrugs his shoulders helplessly, glancing up. "I'm not sure there'll be any."

"Hey, we can't think like that. She's… Liv's strong."

"Yeah, I just don't know if she can take any more bad news, which includes no news at all. I should probably… I don't wanna leave her alone for too long. She actually asked me to stay the day before yesterday, and she hasn't told me to leave, so…"

Amanda almost does a double take on him, her blue eyes wide.

"Wow. She didn't even do that after…" It seems she can't manage to speak Lewis' name, so she lets it hang.

It's not hard to imagine that Liv didn't let anybody in, even after surviving her worst nightmare. While he doesn't know much about that time, it still deeply affects him. He should have been there by her side, if not to protect her, then to help her heal. His absence had only broken Olivia more: she's admitted that much. That all she had wanted was him. He wasn't there then but he's here for her now and he's not going to go anywhere. "Yeah, I know."

"Actually, no. You don't," Rollins says, lowering her voice, giving him a pointed look. "You have no idea what hell that animal put her through." Catching her bottom lip between her teeth she shakes her head. "You can never know what it was like for her, for us. The things he did to her?" The corners of her mouth fall and Rollins looks like she'll be sick any second. "You'll never understand."

"I didn't mean-" Elliot's adam's apple jumps as he swallows and he rubs his palm over his jaw. The blonde's usually so blue eyes have clouded beneath the memories. "What I meant to say is I know she doesn't ask for help, so I already figured she didn't then."

He doesn't know much about Rollins or the extent of the relationship between her and Olivia, but he likes that she is wildly protective of Liv. That Liv had-has-people around her who truly cared about her. It doesn't quench the guilt he feels over his absence, but it's reassuring that she wasn't alone.

"I know I should've been there. And I can't make up for the fact that I wasn't, but I am here now, Rollins. I get the hesitation and hostility. I probably deserve it, too. But I hope you can agree that we're all here for Liv and want her to get better. Look, I'm trying to make things right here. But as long as you guys treat me like the plague, I won't have a shot in hell. Not fully."

"So what, you expect us to gush about you now, tell her what a great guy you are just because you're here now?" She raises one brow and steps away from the car door, reaching for the handle. "Fin's right. You really are a piece of work."

For a few long moments he just looks at her, his jaw set. "You know, I fully expected I'd have to work my ass off to redeem myself with Olivia, but this is getting ridiculous."

"What is? That I'm not grateful for the opportunity to go to bat for you?" Amanda says underneath her breath, leaning in a little closer. "You _knew_ and couldn't even be bothered to show up for court, and do you know what's funny? Even there on the stand when that lunatic cross-examined her, taunting her, she still idolized you." She shakes her head, lips pursed as if he's something nasty. "Actually, let me correct myself. It's not funny. It's just… sad."

He scoffs, crossing his arms. "What do you want from me, Rollins? What the hell do you think I should do? You really think there's a second I don't regret I wasn't there for her? You don't know the first thing about my relationship with Liv, and you want to judge?"

"I know she needed you!" she almost shouts at him now, stretching out her arms, then points her finger at his chest as if she's about to poke him. "Because we couldn't do shit for her. She tried so hard to keep it together and prove to everyone, to herself, that she wasn't broken. She wanted _you_ and you were a no-show. And we were all just flailing!" Her voice drops low then, just above a whisper to make sure her words wouldn't carry through the door. "In the hospital? When they finally gave her something to help her sleep? You know, after all the drugs and vodka were out of her system, after her pain had gotten worse and worse for _hours_ while they couldn't give her more than an ibuprofen?" Amanda stresses. "After she was out, she cried out for you. Didja know that? No? I didn't think so. And you know what else? I'll never forget that sound of sheer terror as she begged him-_begged_ him-not to…" She stops and shakes her head, and for a moment she shudders. For a few more seconds her gaze bores into him before she averts her eyes.

Elliot senses that Amanda's not withholding the information on purpose. She can't say them. His stomach plummets, and he thinks he's going to be sick.

Of course he did not know that. Not any of it. His mouth sours, and he desperately swallows, hoping he's not going to throw up on Rollins' shoes. Maybe it's for the best she didn't finish.

He's seen a couple of small scars when she was in the tub and he helped her out, of course. Briefly. One far up her right arm, one very prominent one on the swell of her left breast as she'd reached for the towel he offered. He'd been extra mindful of her state of nakedness and made sure not to look at her body when he could help it. Instead he had focused on Liv's face.

He's not sure what to say.

What is there to say?

For a moment he closes his eyes and shakes his head, trying to keep his emotions in check but when he opens them they are full to the brim.

"Of course I didn't," he manages, his voice tight. "And I'll never forgive myself for it. And I don't want your forgiveness, but I need hers."

"Look around, Stabler. When she needed you, it was us she got. Now that we should be by her side, you are. You've already got it," she says with a slight eye roll. "She already forgave you. Lord knows why after you treated her like less than nothing."

While he's never cared for anyone's approval, he has a feeling playing nice with Rollins, Fin and Carisi is key. They are all looking out for Liv and to her they are basically family - the only kind she knows. He once used to be part of that. Now it feels like he's on his own.

"I guess I deserve that. Just so we're clear - I do care for her. And I'm not gonna go anywhere so… for Liv's sake, I'd like it if we got along." He nods his head towards the backseat where Noah is. "And for this little guy, who shouldn't see us fighting over his mom."

"Look," Rollins says slightly exasperated. "I know you care for her or else you wouldn't be with her through all of this. And I'm glad she has someone who takes her to her appointments and helps out with everything else. I appreciate that. I know Liv needs that." She pauses, and it seems she only grudgingly adds: "I know she needs _you_. But if you hurt her, Stabler, I swear, I am going to hunt you down, rip off your balls, and feed them to Frannie for breakfast."

He grins a little smugly as Rollins keeps staring at him like she's dead serious. "Understood," he says with a simple nod.

…

Olivia's not feeling well. It has nothing to do with the pressure she feels in her lower back after the dye injection earlier. That pain is bearable. The leg's acting up a lot, but she can hardly be bothered about that, either. It's bigger. That nagging depression that's letting her feel sticky despair. It feels inescapable. She feels like crying, but tears don't come, not even now when she no longer cares if Elliot sees them.

She's talked to Lindstrom yesterday, and his assessment was that she wasn't a high suicide risk. He seemed worried, though, and they put together a crisis plan with things that might help distract her, people to call if the thoughts get overwhelming. With Noah gone for the night she purposely didn't ask Elliot to leave, scared to be completely alone. In certain moments these thoughts… they get oppressively loud. The more Olivia tries not to think about it, even telling herself not to, the more prominent they are.

She thinks of pills or the weight of her gun in her hand but at the latter her mind instantly flashes to the gut-wrenching plummeting of her stomach as Lewis made her hold one to her head in a game of Russian roulette. She thinks of Lewis' blood and brains splattered all over her. She thinks of Lauren Cooper and the blood pattern on that wall, and she flinches. It's so… messy. It doesn't seem peaceful at all.

It's funny how much thought she's putting into this, making her wonder if other people weigh their options, too. It shouldn't really matter _how_ one dies, should it? And yet Olivia knows she's not going to eat a gun or hang herself.

She swallows and shakes her head hard, and finally there's the sound of the key in the door that allows her not to wonder how Elliot would react upon walking into her bathroom to find her pale, lifeless body in a tub full of crimson-colored water.

They say, depending on how deeply you cut, it'll take about ten minutes until your heart stops beating. Two or less if you hit the radial artery. Thing is, hardly anyone cuts deep enough to die from it as it hurts immensely. She wonders if pain would make her stop because she's so used to it. It can't possibly be worse than her leg, can it? As Elliot walks in, and she sees his face, she can legitimately hear her heart breaking for him.

_I can't do that to him. _

And she won't, she thinks. That's why she needs him to stay. She clings to the crisis plan and the reasons she's written down that life's still worth it. Noah. The people that care about her like El, Rollins, Fin and Carisi. Noah. The very slim chance that maybe, one day, she'll get better.

She'd promised Lindstrom she wouldn't hurt herself, and unlike her mother, she cares a great deal about keeping promises.

As much as she's flirting with the options - she can't leave Noah. Not by choice. Not when she made a promise to him last night as she crawled into his bed, breathing in his innocent scent. She needs to stick around for him, needs to try. Because that is what he deserves. Not a mother who's completely resigned. Now she only needs to figure out how to make the thoughts of a way out stop.

„He's so excited to see Frannie."

Elliot. At least for as long as he's here she'll be distracted. She shifts, trying to find a position that feels bearable. The backache doesn't help things.

"You want a pillow for that?"

"I doubt that's gonna help," Olivia grimaces. It's 4:50. Another hour until she can finally take her pills. A nurse had informed her about the side effects of the dye injection. Backaches, headaches, nausea and vomiting were the most likely complications after the procedure. She does feel a little queasy now that she thinks about it.

"Maybe some heat will help? Do you have a heating pad?"

"Ah… no. A cherry pit pillow… somewhere." It draws a laugh from Elliot, a sound, it seems she hasn't heard in ages. For a brief moment it makes her feel a little better.

"A what? And somewhere?"

"It's… cherry pits and flax seeds, I think. Works like a rice sock." Olivia sees his confusion, probably wondering why she didn't just use a rice pillow then. "I was on a bit of an eco- and sustainability trip for a while there," she explains. His confusion turns to obvious amusement.

"Like your strange obsession with tea and tea flowers after Oregon, huh?"

She's surprised he remembers that, thinking if she felt any better a smile would flit across her face.

"Yeah. Something like that. We haven't used it much. Noah was still a toddler then, I think. It's Probably in the bathroom? Or somewhere in the linen closet."

"Want me to look for it?"

"Nah. My back's manageable." Elliot's eyes settle on her trembling leg and his face turns darker as he comes to sit next to her. "This isn't," she admits.

"Another hour," he says and it comes out gruffly. So, he's counting down the hours, too.

"Hm," she agrees through gritted teeth as the tremors almost make her foot lift off the ground.

He touches his hand to her wrist and his thumb strokes her gently.

"It's okay, Liv," he mutters. If he's trying to soothe her or tell her she can let it out, she has no idea but beneath his hand her own turns into a fist. It takes a couple of minutes until she relaxes and her breath returns to normal. For a while they are both silent but she can see Elliot watching her.

"You're not doing so well, are you?" His voice is low and gravelly, and Olivia senses he's not talking about the leg or the pain. Slowly she turns her head to look at him briefly, finding him a lot more serious than she has in the past couple of days. Lowering her head she fiddles with her fingers.

"It's that obvious, huh?" She hears him swallow as he shifts his body.

"Kind of," he says. "I've been there, Liv. I know what depression looks like. What it feels like to be… tired of life."

Slowly Olivia nods. After what feels like a very long time she finally speaks. "It feels like…," she exhales shakily, trying to find words. "the meds aren't working. With the anxiety maybe but…"

"I get it," he whispers. She is not sure he really does, though. Or how much she can confide in him without freaking him out to the point he wants her in a padded room for her own protection.

"I doubt that," she whispers back. Afraid to look him in the eye, she keeps her focus on her hands. How could he possibly know she asked him to stay with her so she won't be tempted to do something stupid? That she's at a point where she doesn't trust herself, her own words, her whispered promises to Noah?

"There was a time," he starts slowly and pauses for a while. "where I sat every night. Trying to find just one reason besides my kids, not to eat my gun." As he speaks Olivia's heart starts racing and she presses her eyes shut. He'd insinuated something like it when they spoke a few months ago, but she didn't think he'd ever spell it out for her. The realization makes her hold her breath. "I never found one," he croaks. "Trying to cling to something only made me see all the reasons it would be better if I was gone."

She can feel his eyes on her. Beneath his intense gaze heat gets trapped underneath her skin. She can't speak but nods as she feels the familiar burn of tears behind her closed eyes.

"I didn't tell anyone. I didn't feel like I could."

Olivia lets her head drop forward, tears sliding down her cheeks when she finally opens her eyes.

"I don't want you to feel that way, Liv," he breathes into her hair, taking her hand. "Like you're alien or like… no-one will understand." She sniffles and wipes at her tears with her free hand. "Hey. Hey, Liv," he says, and she thinks it's to get her full attention. Slowly she lifts her head to look at him, albeit hesitantly. His blue eyes are comforting in a way she didn't expect. "It's fucked up to feel like that. But it's also okay because this will pass. I promise you won't always feel that way," he says with softly-spoken conviction that makes the tears fall faster. She does feel alien. She does feel like nobody could possibly understand and it's a very lonely place to be in. One she isn't sure she can escape.

"If this procedure isn't going to to be conclusive either, I just-," Liv's voice cracks and she takes a few shaky breaths. "I don't know how to go on like this. I'm r-really trying."

"I know you are. I know that. But no matter what, Liv? This isn't the end. Doctor Willem-Vasquez will keep going. She said she would. That this was just one of the less invasive tests they could do." He sounds like that is actually a good thing.

"And what's next, El? They're gonna cut me open to see if they can figure this out?" The question seems to throw him because suddenly he's awfully quiet. "I don't know how much longer I can take this. I know I won't ever be the same but this? How am I supposed to live like this?" It's funny how she has become used to her left leg being useless. At this point she just wants the pain to go away.

"Liv," Elliot mumbles, his arm snaking around her to pull her closer. "you just gotta hold on for a bit longer. Okay? I can see how hard that is for you, but you've only been seeing this doctor for what? Six, seven weeks? You need to give her some time."

"That's just the thing," she whimpers. "It feels like I'm running out of time. It gets unbearable, El. I never thought I'd have these thoughts of… what the quickest way would be. Or the safest. And I don't know what's going to happen in a month or two from now. What if I get even worse? I am holding on but it's so, so hard, Elliot. I can't even pick up my son when he's crying. I mean, let's be honest here, if you weren't here, I couldn't take care of him or all the chores. I'm one step away from assisted living," she cries desperately. "I can pretend I don't need you around here all I want - but we both know you were right saying I'm no longer capable of anything. But you can only be here so long. Eventually you'll need to focus on other things or...or you'll find someone and then what am I and Noah going to do?"

"No. Liv, no. Listen to me," he urges, gently holding her chin up with his thumb and index-finger, so she has no choice but to look at him. "That's not going to happen, you hear me. I promise you I am not going anywhere. You, Noah and Eli? That's my priority." He sounds sincere. She can't detect even a hint of insincerity or hesitation, so he seems to actually believe that. But this is temporary. Why would he put his life on hold for her? He has work, his kids. And there'll come the day when he'll meet someone and date, and no woman is going to put up with his overly-dependent project and her son.

"You have no idea what you mean to me, do you?" he says just above a whisper, his brows drawn together.

Honestly? At this point she doesn't. She used to think she knew but after he left and ghosted her she wonders if any of that was real, or if it was all in her head. So slowly she shakes her head, looking away

"Well, I guess that's entirely on me then." Elliot lets go of her chin and when her eyes find his in confusion, his intense gaze burns like the sun. She thinks she sees a pain in the blue depths that she knows, the kind she felt losing him, the one that never truly went away. When the muscles of her left leg start to twitch and harden she tears her eyes away. Her face screws up and that's it with the conversation because within thirty seconds her pain is escalating like it does more and more often.

Olivia can hardly eat, but forces a few bites of the dinner Elliot fixes down to make her pills more digestible. It's a peculiar cocktail of pain, anxiety, and depression meds. Not feeling confident that the pain will get much better despite an upped dose of Percocet for the night, Olivia curls up in her bed with gritted teeth. It's about an hour until Elliot comes in with a bottle of water and a mug of herbal tea. He sits on the edge of her mattress, carefully pushing a couple of strands of unruly hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear.

"Still not better?" he asks worriedly. She shakes her head, allowing a small sound to escape. Her body is tense and shaking. It's been two hours and she doesn't get much of a break. There is no getting comfortable and the pain drives her crazy to the point she wants to rip that damned leg off herself.

"Damn," he hisses underneath his breath. "Do you want some tea?"

"Mm-uh. Can't," she manages. "Gonna throw up again." It happened last week already. The pain is making her nauseous and apparently her stomach starts to rebel even from fluids.

She feels the mattress shift beneath her when she assumes Elliot stands up, instead he climbs over her rolled up body without touching her and spoons her. He wraps an arm around her and scoots as close as possible, not leaving even half an inch of space between their bodies. He buries his face in her hair, his lips grazing the base of her skull for a second or two.

"It's all right," he mumbles. "Can you try to breathe with me?" At the suggestion she automatically holds her breath again, not sure if it's going to work. Helplessly she clutches his wrist but nods.

"Okay. Here we go. Slow, deep breath in," he guides and does so himself, holding it for a few seconds. "And out."

It takes a good while until she gets into the right rhythm, but when she does, it helps a little bit.

"That's it, there you go, Liv," Elliot encourages her. She doesn't know for how long he's been doing this with her. When another wave of pain subsides her body relaxes, and her steady breathing pattern collapses.

"I can't… again…," she manages wearily, tears of exhaustion rising quickly.

"I know. I'm sorry, honey. I'm right here."

Whimpering she presses her face into the pillow, trying not to start sobbing, to pull herself together because this is not the end of it.

"I've only been in this much pain once before," she admits desperately. "And I couldn't escape then, either." Clearly she is not completely rational, or else she wouldn't let this slip. She can feel Elliot stiffen against her. When Elliot speaks his voice is throaty.

"What did that bastard do to you?"

She can't tell him. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But there is something that has been going through her head for weeks now and she wants to get it off her chest.

"On the last day," she starts, heartbeat racing. "He said to me that he could always smell a victim," she speaks into the quiet of the room. "And he was right." The corners of her mouth drop. "Just not quite in the way he thought. I was held hostage or at gunpoint how many times?" She asks, scoffing before she groans softly as another wave of impending pain rolls over her. "Then Harris… Lewis. Now this," she whispers. "It's in me. In my DNA. None of it will ever end," she says shakily, then whimpers.

"That's not true, Liv. You can't let him get inside your head."

"He already is," comes her defeated reply. "He made damn sure he would be." He'd quite literally carved and burned himself into her skin, her brain, ready for permanent residency. Lindstrom had told her countless times that Lewis couldn't hurt her anymore if she wouldn't let him but that's not true. She's tried so damned hard. For years. And still it all comes back to him. In dreams he meets her for vicious and cruel conversations, his breath in her face, his weight pressing down on her.

Again her body convulses. Elliot automatically pulls her closer again, holding her. "You should take something to help you sleep," he encourages, but she insistently shakes her head no. "Please, Liv. This is scaring me, and you need a break. You deserve a break and some sleep. I know it won't make the pain go away but if it helps even a little-," he pleads with her. "You shouldn't have to endure this, Liv."

Pressing her eyes shut she tries to find things to say to prove she doesn't need anything, but the truth is, she does. Badly. "F-fine," she agrees. He sits up and reaches to her nightstand to help fix her medication, but she shakes her head and swallows, knowing one more Percocet won't do much. She's been there and done that. "In my dresser. Top drawer in… in the far back."

Wordlessly he gets up. Although he doesn't say a word she can tell when he finds the small plastic bag with the two remaining joints. He closes the drawer, and she wonders if he has an opinion.

"Does that help?"

Well, at least that question is non-judgemental.

"It takes the edge off," she admits and groans quietly. "But I don't like it." The tingling of her entire body, that feeling of not being completely in control, the smell, the offensive smoke burning in her lungs - if it weren't for the benefits of calming her anxiety and the excruciating pain, she'd never touch that stuff again. But it can give her the break she so desperately needs.

"Okay," Elliot says calmly. "Where do you keep a lighter?"

"There are matches in the kitchen cupboard, the one on the…"

"Yeah, I know. I know." He sounds distracted and disappears for a moment, returning with matches and a saucer for lack of an ashtray. Squinting her eyes a few times, Olivia slowly moves to sit up against the headboard as Elliot opens the window wide, and a chill creeps across her skin.

It's a strange feeling, taking a joint out of the bag and having Elliot watch her. She chances a glance at him, almost surprised not to see his jaw all tense. She had made a conscious decision not to tell him about the pot, convinced it'd piss off Mr. Holier-Than-Thou for sure.

"So… how'd you get that?" He takes a match and lights it for Olivia as she puts the spliff between her lips. She takes a few careful puffs to light the joint, coughing two times as the smoke settles in her lungs.

"Does that matter?" Olivia asks quietly. She doesn't wanna rat Fin out, even if Elliot doesn't seem to have a problem with it now. His ass is on the line for distribution, so she'll be damned to give it away.

"Not really." He sits back down on the side of the bed, and watches her breathe in another cloud of smoke. A few drags more and she feels the first effects. Her body fully relaxes after being tension-ridden with pain for hours and it's not even the peak yet. Fin had assured her it's good stuff. Olivia closes her eyes and rests her head back. "Can you put that out, please?" She asks, holding the joint out to him.

"Sure. I suppose it's working?"

"Hm-hm," she mumbles and opens her eyes, looking at him. The light cast across the room by the small night-lamp seems much brighter all of sudden.

"Good. That's… I'm glad."

"Yeah?" She asks, feeling her mouth stretching out. It feels funny and unfamiliar. She wonders if that's what it felt like to smile. "I dead-ass thought you'd have a meltdown over it." She grins at Elliot crookedly, and he looks very, very soft as he nods at her.

"That sounds like me, doesn't it?"

"I'm thirsty."

Before she knows it a small bottle of water appears before her and she takes it, taking a couple of healthy sips.

"El?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you," she says, looking directly at him, but everything starts to feel a little fuzzy. In a good way. A way she won't approve of later, when the drug wears off.

…

When she wakes her body feels incredibly heavy. Not even her eyelids want to comply with her, only opening hesitantly. It's one thing to wake up tired and exhausted, but another entirely to feel like she's entangled in a spider web. It's dark in the room. The curtains are drawn. She is in her bed but something feels… different. Not quite right. Slowly, Olivia rubs a hand over her face. Her mouth is drier than the Mojave desert.

Snippets of the previous night come to her. Elliot holding her. Her telling him bits and pieces about Lewis.

Lewis.

She didn't dream of him. At least she can't remember anything. Turns out the pot is good for something, indeed.

Speaking of the positive effects of pot, even now she's pretty much pain-free. Ha! How's that for a change. For a few moments she doesn't dare move, afraid she could jinx it, that her leg will teach her better. She takes a few conscious breaths, deep breaths that actually feel like they reach her lungs, and it feels wonderful. It's like she hasn't truly taken a proper breath in months.

Suddenly she feels energized. Well, her mind certainly does, because her hands still feel somewhat heavy with sleep as she tosses back the covers and braces against the mattress to sit up. Still, no pain. But when she tries to swing her legs out of bed, there's no movement, either.

They don't budge.

"What…" she whispers in confusion, giving it another try. There's only slight discomfort in her lower back. With an open palm, she slaps her right thigh. There is just a hint of sensation and, panicked, Olivia's eyes widen. She does it again, harder this time, her breath becoming erratic.

"No… no. Elliot?" she mutters, but he can't possibly hear her like this. She takes a few more breaths, realizing she's not feeling anything from her waist down except the backache. "Elliot!"

**Oh oh. Now what the hell is going on? Reviews and PMs are highly appreciated. **


	21. Complications

**Notes: Oh my God, I loved all your reviews - and all the awesome guesses of what this might be about. Like... a dream? Is she still trippin' on drugs? One or two of you are awfully close - well, actually kind of spot on.**

**Amy - I am so grateful for your beta'ing skills, for our conversations. Writing is more than just a joy with you. **

It's dark. Like he's in a house with all the windows boarded up, tendrils on the outside and all. It's also quiet, which is a peaceful thing, because even when he's not with her, the anguished sounds of pain never quite leave him. They are stuck in his head like wallpapers to a wall, the kind you have trouble getting off even with soap water and an entire army of scrapers.

She's not in this house. Liv. Not even on the outside, looking in. It's just him and his even breath and that deeply satisfying feeling of being wrapped in a wonderfully warm, safe cocoon. Everything is calm and comfortable. Until it's not.

That sense of trepidation crawls beneath his skin, spreads within every fiber and sinks into his bones. The cocoon is slipping away, giving way to quicksand, pulling him in, pulling him down.

There's pounding so intense, it makes his insides vibrate. Groaning he clutches his palm to his chest, his heart racing. But it's not his heart causing that pounding, because it grows louder by the second.

It's fists against a door in an act of utter panic. Then there's her voice, faintly behind the noise, the incessant hammering, but he can't make out the words, and really, he just wants the warmth and quiet back.

It's funny, because he's become so used to her cries and whimpers and yet this sounds completely unfamiliar. His weary body has trouble catching up with his slightly alert mind.

He thinks it's his name he hears and God, can't she just not, because he's so, so tired...

"Elliot! Elliot!"

He groans. His name echoes louder and louder, as does the pounding of the door, his heart, his head until it's an almost explosive crescendo that rattles these walls and he startles awake with a violent jolt.

"ELLIOT!"

He's not in some house, there are no windows boarded up and there's no-one hammering against any doors. Instead he's right where he fell asleep, on Olivia's living room sofa. The only thing that aparrantly isn't a figment of his brain is that she's screaming bloody murder. It sends an icy shiver down his spine, and it runs marrow-deep.

Upon first instinct he's certain it's Lewis. A nightmare. The conversation with Rollins is still fresh in his mind, so is one he had with Liv a few weeks ago-that she had only wanted and needed him. For the first time something about the kidnapping feels real. It's always been something Elliot couldn't quite grasp, may not have wanted to grasp, unable to wrap his head around what the monster must have put Liv through.

He wonders if she screamed like this for him when Lewis had her, tortured her, hurt her…. maybe worse. Probably worse.

He's seen a hell of a lot on the job, some things unimaginable and unfathomable but this was Liv. He doesn't know any details, and what he knew he'd let wash over him, trying to detach of what couldn't be - because it was Liv, for fuck's sake. Of course he'd followed the news on the TV, he'd read the articles. He sorted the words into boxes. Cuts. Burns. Assault. _It was Liv._ At the end of the day he knew what was on the public record - but with Olivia he imagined it probably only scratched the surface of the truth.

His mind flashes back to Harris, Sealview, that goddamn undercover stint gone wrong, something he never stopped feeling responsible for. There was never an official complaint and thus no statement from Olivia, so Elliot never knew, but they all knew something happened in that basement. Liv didn't tell him a thing and neither did Fin, out of respect for her, which should have made him respect Fin more - instead he'd wanted to slam him into a locker and pummel the truth right out of him.

The edge of panic in Olivia's voice is what penetrates the fog in his mind and spurs him into action.

The door to her bedroom is open, he left it like this so he could hear her at night, in case pain bothered her again. Even from the other room he can hear her breathing heavily.

Elliot physically tries to shake the sleep from his weary body that's slowing his limbs and every movement down.

When he's finally on his feet and bolts towards her bedroom, it feels like he's tripping in the semi-dark of dawn. She's sitting on her bed, upright, and he can hardly make out the expression on her face or if she's awake or asleep and dreaming but somehow he assumes the latter because she shows no reaction to his presence when she cries out his name again, although this time it's more of a whimper, a more hopeless sound.

"It's okay, I'm here," he says quickly, walking over to her. "It's a dream, Liv… it's just.."

"I can't move my legs."

He thought he'd heard her voice in every pitch possible, but this is not one of them. Although he understood the words, he can't make sense of them, can't even process them when she repeats them.

"What?"

"My legs. I can't… I can't move them."

He slams his hand against the light switch, feeling panicked, although he's still not convinced she's fully awake and possibly, hopefully, having a nightmare, the kind that feels real even when you wake up.

He's by her side then, and Olivia's palms are on her thighs, rubbing with some serious pressure while he rubs his mouth, wondering how this is possible or what the hell to do.

"Elliot…" She's shaking now, and it doesn't help because he's trying to think and he can't think when he sees her like this, scared and distraught. Rummaging in the farthest corner of his mind he tries to remember what to do when someone can't move their legs. After an accident you shouldn't move a person but this is not a goddamn accident, she was _fine. _Well, in comparison. For someone who should be crisis approved, being an ex-marine, ex-cop—god, that's a lot of exes—he's utterly lost.

„El…"

„Just wait! I need to think!" He takes a breath and then, more calmly, repeats. „I just need a minute to think."

There are not too many options, are there? Either he calls an ambulance, or the emergency service Dr. Willem-Vasquez' practice is part of, or he takes Olivia to the ER himself. All of them sound like a gamble because no-one even knows Liv and her health issues.

„Doc's emergency service," Elliot decides aloud. „We're going to call the service, see what they say."

As quickly as the plan forms, Elliot is gone and back with the card and his cell, shakily punching in the number with his index-finger. At the sixth ring a woman finally picks up. He explains the issue as best as he can, then hangs up, frustrated.

„Someone's going to call back in 10-15 minutes." Which is an eternity under the circumstances, especially when there is nothing he can do. Well, except reassuring Liv that everything is going to be okay. He sits down, taking her hand as it sinks in just how scared she must be. „I'm sorry I snapped at you. I'm just…" There is no good explanation, clearly she got the worse deal, his legs are working fine after all. Pressing his lips together, he looks at her thighs. „Can you feel anything?"

„Not much. It's… like pins and needles when I rub or squeeze it. It's like my feet aren't even there." She sounds freaked, insecure, and yet he thinks she's holding it together quite well. If roles were reversed, he's pretty sure he'd lose it.

„No pain?"

Olivia shakes her head, and while this would count as a good thing under different circumstances, now it sounds like bad news. He helps her scoot up against the headboard when she gets uncomfortable, hoping they don't cause any more damage. There is a big, wet spot where she sat before and he swallows, looking at Liv, who has also noticed. While she looks uncomfortable, she still looks a lot more scared than anything else.

"This is all right," he assures. "It's probably normal when you have no sensation." Or it's literally fear-induced. Whatever the reason, he doesn't want her to feel like it's a big deal.

She looks not so sure to him but nods, her lip quivering. "I'm scared," she says, her voice just above a whisper.

"I know," he kisses her hair, not pulling back for a while. "Me too."

"What if…"

In that moment the phone rings and Elliot stiffens for a moment before thinking to pick up. It's been maybe three minutes since he hung up with the emergency service. He's flooded with a surge of relief when it's Liv's doctor who introduces herself, because what were the odds? At least her instructions will be the closest to accurate to follow since she knows her and Liv's particular problems. He'll take her word over everyone else's, no question.

She asks for Olivia, who feels more comfortable with Elliot listening, asking if they can be on speaker. The doctor wants her to explain exactly what's going on. She asks questions like 'Can you wiggle your toes?' -at which they are both surprised that she can, because Liv said she tried before and it didn't work as well- and 'When you pinch your leg, do you have any sensation somewhere?' -which yes, she has when she pinches a bit harder. Some more sensation returns as they talk and Dr. Willem-Vasquez stays on the phone with them as she asks them to give it a few more minutes, although she sounds alarmed. Olivia explains that the entire lower half of her body has started to tingle, and the feeling reminds her of a foot or leg falling asleep.

At the doctor's request, they try to get her to stand, finding she can't on her own, but with Elliot bearing most of her weight she manages to take a few steps, but her feet drag, her ankles try to turn, and her knees buckle. He helps Liv back onto the bed, letting the doctor know it didn't go well, Olivia cannot support herself.

Elliot's spooked by the doctor's audible concern and the order to either call an ambulance if they feel it's necessary, or get to the ER, where she'll meet them, as quickly as possible.

Elliot hangs up, slightly frustrated, because the doc's playing it close to the vest, saying she needs to see the CT scans and Olivia first, even though it sounded like she has a pretty good idea of what is going on.

Although there is a plan now, Elliot's completely overwhelmed to execute it. Get to the ER sounds fairly easy, except it is not.

"I should probably call an Über," he starts. "Do we need clothes? Should I pack a bag?" None of this is a priority, he realizes as he speaks. If she needs anything, he can still get it later. "Probably not…"

"Could you just… help me get cleaned up?" Olivia asks timidly, and he understands why. It might not be high on his list, because he just wants to get her to the goddamn hospital, and pronto, but he gets her need for a shower and a clean set of clothes.

"Right. I'll… um… yeah. Let's get you to the bathroom."

Nodding slowly she gives it her best effort. He's still supporting her more than she's walking on her own, and her feet still drag rather than lifting into a step. Elliot is relieved they make it to the bathroom at all. He's trying to steel himself for what's next, the logical steps to follow as he sits her down on the toilet lid. Take off her pajama pants. Her underwear.

He swallows, wondering how on earth he's supposed to do this and not look at her body, not make her feel uncomfortable. Hell, she'll be against him completely naked, and this time is different because he's only wearing boxers and an undershirt himself, something he only realizes now.

Olivia doesn't seem to think about these things because her shirt comes off, and she doesn't even attempt to hide behind the fabric in her hand. Instead she looks up at him. It shouldn't surprise him how well she still knows him.

„Not the time for modesty," she mumbles, and her eyes are very dark. He notices the slightest slump in her shoulders as she drops the shirt. „It's all right, Elliot. Just… get me out of these clothes." It sounds like she's trying to convince the both of them.

He nods once, twice, slowly, trying to wrap his head around it. For all the times he's imagined stripping Liv of her clothes, it's been nothing like this, and damn, he thought he'd gone through every possible scenario.

„Okay," he decides. „I'm going to help you up, and we're gonna get you out of these clothes." He counts from three to zero before pulling her up against him. She groans from the physical strain, arms around his neck, while doing her best at having her legs support her. Quickly he pushes the two layers of fabric past her hips, not caring that they are urine-soaked. „Okay, and back down. Careful… there you go."

When she's sitting safely, he slides her pants and panties off, discarding them in the sink. He's trying not to look at her, but his gaze gravitates to her body instead of her face or the wall or… anything really. His jaw sets and his teeth grind. There are more scars than he can count or process upon first glance, and a surge of nausea jerks through his tension ridden body when his eyes settle on thick, pink scar tissue that wraps itself around Olivia's left thigh almost serpentine-like. The towel must have covered it the last time because it's not something he could have overlooked even if he tried.

There's no space for him to get lost in his head now and so he tries to shake the image, the nausea, the what ifs, and focuses on what needs to be done. „Let's get you into the tub," he says gruffly, unaware of his tone until she shrinks a little more under it, and he curses himself, tries a softer tone. „I've got you, okay?"

She nods, and slowly he moves in so she can fully lean on him as he helps her up and the few steps towards the tub. He maneuvers her to the board where she can safely sit. He lifts her legs over the ledge when she fails, taking in the deep scarring across her left calf, wincing audibly. He's never seen it like this, up close, mostly because Liv didn't want him to. Or anyone else for that matter. He turns on the water, making sure it's not too hot and offers her the shower head. As Olivia gets cleaned up, he gets the biggest towel he can find and a fresh set of clothes that'll be easy to get into.

By the time she's ready to get out, he's luckily on autopilot, which allows him not to pay attention to the many distractions her body throws at him. He helps her towel off while she holds a bigger towel in front of her, so she at least gets a shred of privacy when he needs to be so intimately close. Jesus, it's like nothing's sacred for her anymore, he thinks, because he pretty much has his hands everywhere as he helps her put on underwear.

A few minutes later Olivia is fully dressed, so Elliot gets a couple of minutes to get ready, too, and to call an Über. She waits for him on the couch while he tells himself it's more comfortable for her, but what the hell does he know? She hardly has any function in her legs, and he's terrified of what it means for her, for Noah. For him.

They make it to the lobby of her building, and thank God she's moved to a place with an elevator. He's almost fully supporting her weight as she has one arm hooked around his neck, his arm around her, pulling her against him. She hardly has to take any steps, and it looks like he's going to have to carry her outside and to the waiting Über.

The elevator doors start to close as they start moving, and he slams his hand on the button to keep them open, shouting when a woman just stares. „Can we get some help here?"

With uncoordinated steps they make it to the entry of the building, the custodian coming to their aid. Unfortunately he's asking too many questions.

„Is she all right? Should I call an ambulance? Maybe she…"

„Fuck's sake, just hold the door open, will ya?" Elliot hisses.

The sharp tone is very effective. The guy holds the door open for them. Stepping outside, Olivia's body slumps against his a little more and she looks at the distance to the Über parked five cars down, then up at Elliot, shaking her head.

„I don't think-" she starts, looking at him, helpless.

„I've got you," he assures. „I'll pick you up now. Ready?"

Again she nods. He readjusts his stance to find his balance before he slips his arm around the back of her knees and tucks her frail body against him, carrying her to the waiting car.

…

When they reach the ER, Elliot helps Olivia into a wheelchair. She's always hated these things and she hates it now but she's painfully aware that she is not going to make it anywhere without one. They make it through large sliding glass doors and towards the sign-in. While she was scared out of her mind when she woke up, unable to move her legs, she's now almost internally numbed by fear of what is to come. She's not even in pain, which says a lot when normally it drives her to insanity even on better days, munching down on Percocet. She hasn't even taken her pills and it feels like there are some underlying muscle aches at the very most.

Elliot accepts the forms from the intake-nurse, asking her if, by any chance, Dr. Willem-Vasquez is around, they are expected, but the older woman merely apologizes.

"Sorry, hon. I'm sure someone will be with you shortly."

They wait for ten minutes until the doctor rounds the corner and spots them. Elliot sits up straight in an instant and gently shakes Olivia's elbow as the blonde woman walks towards the intake-nurse, then towards them.

"It's gonna be all right," he says, and she nods although she doesn't believe him.

"I'm sorry, my taxi got held up in traffic," Dr. Willem-Vasquez explains to both of them, then directs Olivia. "You're going to be taken to an exam room for vitals, okay? I'll be with you soon."

Nodding, Olivia swallows. She knows that tone, that careful gaze, like something huge is going to come. "Can… Can he come?" Elliot. She wants him there. She can't be alone now.

"Of course."

A nurse joins them, introduces herself and wheels Olivia into a room. The process doesn't take long but it's still about twenty-five minutes until Dr. Willem-Vasquez joins them in the room, apologizing.

After a thorough physical exam she takes a seat, looking at Olivia for what feels like a long time until she speaks.

"Okay. I've gone over the CT report and consulted with an orthopedic surgeon just now to be completely sure I've got the right idea of what's going on. I'd considered this before, but the symptoms didn't quite fit," the doctor explains, taking an iPad, and showing them a scan. She points out a spot with a pen. "Right here, see those bony protuberances? And here you can see the narrowed nerve root of what we call 'Spinal Stenosis', which is basically a narrowing of the spaces in the spine. Now in your case, I believe that a bundle of nerves below the spinal cord have been damaged. There are a few very distinct symptoms and I'd like to discuss those with you, so if you experienced any of those, even very briefly, I need to know, okay?"

"Okay," Olivia nods slowly, taking deep, calming breaths. She is wondering what's to come, and if this is going to lead-finally-to a diagnosis. All of a sudden she feels nauseous.

"Did you experience any severe back pain lately?"

"I wouldn't say severe. The leg pain was always much worse."

"Okay. That's good," the doctor assures, taking notes. "Any numbness or pins and needles sensation in the saddle region, so your buttocks, your thighs? Possibly even your legs or feet?"

Olivia blinks slowly and swallows. "I," she starts, exhaling shakily as the realization hits. She remembers how her foot had fallen asleep when Fin was over, how she'd wondered about that but then, in retrospect, had not given it further thought. "Yes. I've been feeling numb… I… I thought it was from… not moving enough, sitting all the time. I thought…"

"It's all right, Olivia. You don't have to explain anything, it's just important I know. For how long?"

"I don't know… a month? Two maybe. I really…"

"And would you say there's been an increase of that numbness?"

The blonde's voice is sympathetic as she looks up from her forms. Olivia merely nods, unable to say anything. All she does is wonder if this is bad. It sounds bad.

"Okay. Have you been experiencing any bladder or bowel dysfunction? Even small leaks would be important to mention."

At the question Olivia's torso stiffens. For a moment she is unable to grasp that it has anything to do with what's going on with her physically. In her head thoughts are spinning to the point she feels lightheaded. She's looking at the doctor and yet doesn't see her.

"Olivia?" the doctor prompts, but she can't speak. Instead of her, Elliot answers.

"There was an accident this morning, but, with some sort of paralysis going on, that's normal, right?" he asks, sounding insecure and shaken.

"Any incontinence or sexual dysfunction would be a huge red flag," Dr. Willem-Vasquez says, and Olivia can feel how the doctor is solely focused on her.

Olivia's head drops, and she holds a breath in, squirming under the scrutiny.

"Would you rather we discuss this between the two of us, Olivia?" the doctor offers, her voice sympathetic.

"Liv…," Elliot tries, and it seems to dawn on him why she's being so quiet. "Was this not the first time?"

With his question the realization hits fully. "I thought it was the nightmares," she whispers, unable to fully grasp there was nothing she could have done to stop it, that it was physical and not because she failed to shut Lewis out. It feels like he sits on her chest, Lewis, laughing in her face, almost making it impossible to breathe. When the doctor's pen clicks she startles slightly, her body giving a little jump.

"Based on your scans and these additional symptoms, I'm confident this is Cauda Equina Syndrome. The good news is that we almost certainly know what it is. The bad news is that CES is a medical emergency." Olivia tries to follow, but all that gets stuck in her head are the words medical emergency.

"Is there anything… what do we-?" Olivia asks, feeling her heart thumping so loud, she can hear the whooshing of her blood in her ears. Elliot takes her hand and squeezes it, and instantly she feels a little calmer.

"This is what is going to happen: I'm going to have you admitted and book an OR. You need surgery, promptly, which means today, if possible, because this is very serious. The compression causes ongoing nerve damage, and that pressure needs to be relieved. The sooner that happens, the more function we are likely to be able to salvage."

"What if she doesn't have the surgery?"

"Eventually permanent loss of function in the legs, permanent impairment in bladder and bowel control… there's really no choice here. You will face paralysis if this stays untreated."

...

By midday Olivia is in pre-op. They were in the ER exam room until an OR was booked, and then there was a flurry of blood work, surgery prep, release forms, and people in and out. It feels like they've talked to every member of the hospital staff except the top administration, and there hasn't been a moment to process what's going on.

Elliot has been with her the whole time. He hasn't moved from her side once, except to make a few calls. She thinks he's more on edge than she is, if that's even possible. He sits in a chair, knees wide apart, elbows on his thighs, and fiddles with his hands as he watches the nurse like a hawk as she places an IV. The nurse pats her hand, tells her it's just a waiting game now, and, for the first time since she woke up, everything is still.

Dr. Willem-Vasquez explained the procedure in depth, sounding confident they will be able to relieve the pressure on the nerves. Having even the most skilled surgeons grind away parts of her vertebrae with power tools doesn't sound reassuring, though. The only thing swirling through Olivia's mind is the list of what could go wrong from the consent forms, and she returns to taking measured breaths. Even so, the EKG shows her heart rate steadily rising, and she reaches for Elliot's hand.

"I'm still scared, El."

He had pocketed his phone and moved closer once the nurse had left, and he cups her hand in his. He bows his head ever so slightly and she thinks he might be out of things to say that are going to make her any less scared.

"I know." His voice is deep and raspy, like he's just woken up. He has barely spoken in the last hour, after all questions were asked. When his head lifts and his eyes find her, she sees the emotion swirling in them.

The room is thick with the what ifs that Olivia hasn't spoken out loud. They live beneath Elliot's skin too, she can see it in the slump of his shoulders, his despondent facial expression. There is a chance she won't regain mobility and sensation in her lower extremities - those were the doctor's exact words.

She tries to picture herself in a wheelchair, wondering if Elliot does the same. It's hard to imagine she might never stand on her feet again, never walk again, even with her gait as impaired as it is. Her apartment isn't terribly disability-friendly, her building is only just accessible. Hell, if she thinks about it so much of the city isn't, but despite the unknowns and the fears there's something comforting in the possibility that this is how things are going to be. She is not in agonizing, intolerable pain that doesn't allow her to think, to focus, to feel. It's like she's taking a cleansing breath after months and months of being smothered with a pillow. Not being able to walk used to be her biggest fear but after months of enduring pain that goes beyond description it seems doable, not nearly as scary. If someone presented her with the option right now, more pain or loss of function in both legs? She'd pick the latter in a second. What freaks her out is the idea of bowel and urinary dysfunction.

El's phone beeps with an incoming text message.

"It's Rollins. She says not to worry about Noah and good luck for the surgery. They're all thinking of you."

"El?"

"Hm?" He types in a reply and slides the phone back into his pocket.

"What if this is-," she nods towards her legs.

"Then we'll figure it out," he says gently, which tells her the very same things going through her head are in his. He doesn't even try to tell her it's all going to be okay, like he senses it's not.

Olivia nods and worries her bottom lip before speaking. "I need to talk to you about something," she rasps, and he rolls closer with his chair. "Noah… in case I don't come out of this…"

Instantly he shakes his head, refusing to go there. "No. No, Olivia. No…"

"I know," she says in an almost soothing tone, trying to stay level-headed and not let worry get the better of her. She needs to say this, and she needs him to listen, because the chance exists that she won't make it out of this OR alive, however unlikely that may be. "I need to say this. Listen..." She sits up with some effort, seeing Elliot nod, although he's obviously dreading whatever is going to come.

"Okay," he gives in, hesitantly.

"In case something happens to me, Amanda is Noah's designated guardian," she starts, her face serious. "But I want you in his life, El. He's… You're good for him. And you've been good to him, and if you're willing…," she swallows heavily.

"Of course," he says quickly, seemingly not even thinking about it. But this she needs him to be sure about. He can't just vanish on her son the way he did her. If she ever needed a promise from him, it is now.

"I need you to promise me not to abandon him if anything happens to me," she manages thickly, her voice close to cracking.

"Of course. I promise." Elliot's eyes get red, and she thinks he might not hold it together for long. "But you won't…"

"You don't know that," she interjects. "I never would have thought a car would hit me and I'd end up like…," she swallows and shakes her head. "...this. I know it's unlikely, but I want to have my affairs in order. Rollins has a copy of my documents, but there's nothing about you in it," Olivia explains. "Can you just get me a pen and paper, so she'll have it in writing? That this is what I want?"

"What, now?"

"Yes, now," she says. "Before they wheel me off to the OR, preferably." She tries to make light of it with a smile, but it's hard to shake the seriousness of the conversation. It spurs Elliot into action, albeit reluctantly.

The next hour is a waiting game, indeed. She uses the time to call Noah's school, explaining the situation and is lucky enough to get to speak to him on the phone. She tells him his sleepover is going to be four or five sleepovers and how the doctors are going to help her feel better, and he's excited, although it's not quite clear if it's because of her or because he gets to spend even more time with Frannie. For a moment she forgets about the surgery and all that could go wrong as she tells him she loves him to the moon and back.

When her doctor steps into the room, the air is filled with nervous energy.

„Hey. I just wanted to check in on you before we see each other in the OR. A nurse and an intern are going to take you to the operating room, and I'll be in the room with the head of Ortho, so you are in very good hands."

Olivia gets the sense this is not necessarily normal as far as patient care goes, but it's definitely kind and somewhat reassuring.

„So it's… now?"

„In a few minutes," the other woman confirms, stepping closer. „I just wanted to say that I have very high hopes for this going well."

„Thank you. I guess if it helps with the pain at least… You'll be obligated to open a bottle of champagne with me." It's a joke, or maybe it's not. For now it's still unimaginable that the pain won't be back when she wakes up. One thing is for sure, Dr. Willem-Vasquez was the only doctor who took her seriously and actually did her best to help.

The doctor laughs softly, reaching out to lay her hand on top of Olivia's. „Let's get you fixed up, but if this works? I'm not averse to opening that bottle," the blonde smiles. „I'll go scrub in now." Letting go of Olivia, she takes a few steps back, then nods at Elliot once, before telling him "see you later."

„She's nice."

„Yeah," he replies, thoughtfully. „She is."

…

He's been pacing for hours. His legs feel foreign as he's leaning against the wall, one arm bracing against the cool, white surface. He thinks how humans are not designed to endure so much uncertainty while a loved one is in surgery. He sure as hell isn't.

It's been four cups of miserable coffee from the vending machine, several texts to her people and his family, one threat to have him removed from the surgical floor altogether if he didn't sit his butt down, and a kinder nurse who's banished him from check-ins any more often than 20 minutes.

Long story short, Elloit is going out of his mind with worry as his brain conjures up every possible scenario. Unfortunately one is worse than the other.

„No. No, there are still no updates," he sighs into the phone, wishing he could give Rollins better news than half an hour ago. At least she's talking to him. No one else does, and it's a welcome distraction from the conversations he starts in his own head. „How's Noah?"

„Blissfully unaware. We're about to order dinner. The kids were having a blast at the dog park with Frannie. I'll send pictures for Liv to look at when she wakes up. They are cute as a button," Rollins says, making Elliot wonder if the cheerfulness that permeates his ear like an afterthought is for his or her own benefit. For a moment there's silence. He thinks she must have gone into her bedroom for privacy since there is nothing in the background that sounds like two happy kids. „She's gonna be fine, Elliot."

„Yeah. Yeah," he says distractedly, wanting to believe it. „She's…" At the end of the hallway he sees big double doors open, revealing the familiar figure he recognizes as Liv's doctor. She's still in blue scrubs, and from the distance their eyes meet. „Rollins, I'm gonna call you back," he says gruffly, then hangs up and makes his way towards the surgeon.

„How is she?"

"Elliot. Olivia is out of surgery and doing fine. She's in recovery. Everything went very well. We removed all the bone material that was pressing down on the nerves. We also found an infection that travelled up to one of the lower nerve roots that the contrast CT did not show. We're giving her IV corticosteroids and antibiotics to treat the infection and inflammation. There were several areas of impingement that were… more significant than we expected, so we'll be monitoring her closely. "

"So, what does that mean? Will she walk? Is she going to feel better?" All he hears is a lot of medical, and he has no idea what it translates to.

"I'm afraid I can't answer that. There is some nerve damage that won't be resolved from surgery alone, but I can't tell to what degree. We didn't catch it as early as I wish we had."

Elliot is not happy with the answer but takes a step back, rubbing the back of his neck. There's been a whole list of life altering consequences of Cauda Equina Syndrome that the doctor informed them about earlier, plus the rabbit hole of internet searches while he waited. It's possible Olivia will still be in just as much pain, or that her gait will be permanently damaged. He doesn't even want to think what permanent elimination or sexual dysfunction would do to her and prays she will be spared. He swallows and then clears his throat, trying to shake the worst case scenarios. "Can I see her?"

"Of course. Follow me," the doctor says, leading the way. "They should have settled her into a room by now."

Liv looks almost peaceful, despite the monitors she's hooked on. Slowly he walks closer, reaching out to push some unruly hair out of her face before he bends over and places a kiss on her forehead, just like he did when they picked her up earlier.

"Hey," he whispers, not expecting a reaction but he's giving it a moment anyway, just in case. "I'm so glad to see you. Everything went really well, the doctor said." His skin is heating because with nobody knowing the outcome yet, it feels like a massive lie. Pulling a chair, Elliot sits down, taking Olivia's pale hand in his. Absentmindedly, Elliot strokes his thumb across the back of her hand. "I just got off the phone with Rollins, and guess what? Noah's having a blast." He smiles tightly at her, feeling emotion lock his throat as he wipes under his eyes. "Damn Liv, you got me scared."

He only gets aware of the doctor's presence when she announces she's going to check up on Olivia soon, acknowledging the woman with a short "Thank you." He stays by Olivia's side for twenty minutes and only leaves the room to call Rollins, and have her spread the news. She too, is relieved, telling him to let Olivia know they are all thinking of her, and to take good care of her. By the time the doctor returns it's well past 10 pm. Olivia hasn't so much as stirred. Dr. Willem-Vasquez puts a paper wrapped sandwich and a water bottle on the nightstand, looking at Elliot. "I take it you haven't eaten all day."

Leaning back, Elliot rubs his eyes. Food isn't very high on his list. He isn't even sure what to make of this. He's had his share of hospital stays, and he hardly ever saw a doctor except for rounds in the morning, leave alone one who gives away sandwiches and water to the visitors. She got here as early as they did, so he's surprised she's still here to start with.

"You're not going to be any good to her like this." She moves towards the monitors and looks at Olivia's chart, then checks the IV bag.

"I'm fine."

"Uh-hmm," she says, glancing at him from the other side of the bed. "She's probably going to be out for a few more hours, if not until morning."

"She didn't even wake the last two times the nurses checked her vitals."

"They had her talking in recovery, and then she fell asleep. She's stable, and everything's looking great. I think she's just getting some of that sleep she's been missing out on these past few months. A nurse will change her IV bag soon."

He nods, his brain processing the information only slowly. It's been a hell of a long day.

"Eat. Drink," the doctor says. "Sleep. Doctor's orders. I will see you tomorrow."

Elliot nods at the woman as she makes her way towards the door. "And Doc?" She turns, door handle in hand, looking at him. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

For long minutes he leaves the sandwich and water untouched. The interruption has him wide awake again. Elliot scrubs his hands over his face, presses the heels of them against his eye sockets until he sees bright tiny dots dancing. He looks at her then and for the first time in these hours he realizes just how peaceful and relaxed Olivia looks. Her face isn't tense with pain, the frown wrinkles are still visible but they aren't ridges, set in stone. She's soft. So, so soft. Her breath is an even hum, soothing as a lullaby.

He has forgotten what she looked like without the marks of anguish and he likes this, wants to hold on to it. If there was any way for him to just grasp this moment and never let go, never change anything about this calmness? He would. By God, he would.

What is it going to take for her to stay like this? Pain free? Peaceful? He's not sure what the morning will bring. He's going to bargain with God again tonight, for her, for her future, her sanity, her life.

His stomach betrays him, growls. The doc's been spot on about how he hasn't eaten all day. His fuel has been worry and coffee, black. Briefly his gaze flits to the table, the brown wrapping of the sandwich catching his eye. His mouth waters and after debating for a minute whether he can even stomach anything, the gaping void in his middle screams for food and he gives in. It's a good sandwich and he should remember to thank the doc again tomorrow. He drains the water bottle in one go and disposes of the waste in the trash by the door.

The night nurse steps in again, checks Olivia's vitals, changes the IV bag. She's nice, this one, reminding him that the chair's a recliner and that he's welcome to camp right next to her bed if he wants.

"She's doing well," she assures with a smile. Mary. Her voice is music in his ear for this sole reason. Olivia is doing well.

"I'll be back in a couple of hours," Mary announces.

"Thank you," he says, groggily, and, just like that, Mary disappears. He's alone again. With Liv. All the quiet, it's getting to him, makes his eyes burn with part suspense, part fatigue. He adjusts the chair, reclines it, tries to get comfortable on the thing.

He reaches for Olivia's hand then, stroking the patches of skin covering prominent bone ever so softly. Desire sits beneath his swirling thumb, but not in the way it did for nearly two decades. It's not some primal, visceral need. Tonight it's about just being here, with her. It's about wanting to be with her every night, even if it only means watching her sleep.

The even rise and fall of her chest, the softness of her breath, they are enticing things, coaxing him into closing his eyes. Soon his breathing pattern matches hers. Even. Soft. Freed.

...

**End Notes: I hope this chapter brings some relief to you as it did to me. We're not out of the woods, but well - WE SOLVED A MEDICAL MYSTERY. Also: CES is a bitch... :( But we'll see what's in the cards, right? Let me know what you thought of this one. **


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